The Dream of a Waking Man
by SashaBatTzion
Summary: When Harry accidentally apparated into his Azkaban cell, Sirius struggled to protect him. They've managed to escape, but with the Aurors chasing them and dark wizards lurking around every corner, their journey to safety is far from done.
1. In a Castle By the Sea, Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related works

* * *

When the fog wasn't too thick, Sirius could just about make out the coast. He wasn't too sure what part of the coast it was, exactly- he couldn't remember his arrest or transport to prison. There was a flash of white that blinded him as Peter set off an explosion, and when he opened his eyes he was in the cell. He couldn't even remember his trial, or what the hell he'd said to land himself here. He stuck his head out between the bars, and twisted sideways, his shoulders to damn broad to fit no matter how hard he tried. He could see the coast today- a strip of green on the edge of the horizon, a reminder of everything he'd lost. He unwedged his shoulders and pulled his head back inside, resting his head against the bars, listening to the steady crash of waves against the wall of the prison. There was a sudden crack, earsplittingly loud in the small cell, echoing and amplifying off of the stone walls, and Sirius flung himself away from the window, into the corner. You couldn't apparate in Azkaban, he thought wildly, its wards were nearly as strong as Hogwarts. What sort of magic could be powerful enough-

Oh, of course, he thought, exhaling slightly when he saw the small figure balled up in the corner opposite him. Accidental magic, elemental and chaotic in nature, and almost impossible for even outside forces to control. The relief was quickly replaced by fear- not fear for his own safety, but for the child.

"Hey there," he said, crossing the length of the cell in two quick strides, "Are you alright there?" The boy looked up, startled by Sirius' voice, but said nothing, his tear streaked face wrenched in fear and confusion. Poor little tyke didn't even know what he'd done, Sirius thought, and knelt in front of the boy, pawing at him a little to make sure he hadn't splinched any extremities. "You've accidentally apperated," he explained to the boy, "Do you feel any pain in your tummy? Or anywhere else?" The boy shook his head.

"My knees are skinneded though," he said quietly. Sirius took a second look- sure enough, the boy's legs were covered in scabs and bruises in various states of healing, some quite fresh. His hands and elbows weren't much better, and he had a split lip. Sirius kissed his palms and pressed them to the boy's knees.

"All better," Sirius said. "I take it you fall down a fair bit?"

"I get pushed overed by my cousin. He's a big boy," the boy said. "I'm not espossed to complain though, cause I'm espossed to toughen up like a big boy."

"Is that what your parents tell you?" Sirius asked, straightening the boy's oversized shirt. The boy shook his head, his tangled bangs fell to the other side of his face, stealing Sirius' breath.

"No," Harry Potter said, dark red scar blazing out above brilliant, bottle-green eyes, so like his mother's, "My parents are dead."

* * *

"Oy!" Phineas Phelps hollered from the next cell other. "What's that fukken noise over there Black!?"

"Yeah, and 'oos that in there witchu, you plod? I 'ear 'is smarmy lil voice, don't chu be lying now!" Orm Mullum yelled also. Sirius cursed his luck- the cells in Azkaban had muffling charms on them, to keep the ramblers from driving everyone completely starkers, but you could still hear those adjacent to you if they spoke loudly, or anyone who shouted.

"You trying to escape? By Merlin's bloody beard, if you get out and don't take me with you I'll rip your blood-traitorous nuts off, you piece of-"

"Shut up, you fucking frogs!" Sirius shouted back. "A boy accidentally apparated into my cell. Someone'll be along shortly to pick him up shortly, I suspect, and in the meantime watch your damn language, would you!?" He paused, and turned to Harry. "Sorry," he said, "I'll put a sickle in the swear jar when the Auror comes for you."

"What boy?" Phelps asked at the top of his lungs. Sirius thought fast. If this lot found out that Harry Potter was in Azkaban- cold iron was sturdy, and the Dementors left most of them lethargic with madness, but knowing Harry Potter, who's defeat of Voldemort had gotten most of them imprisoned, was just a few yards away- nothing would keep them from trying to kill him.

"Evan!" Sirius shouted quickly. "Evan Jameson!"

"What!? Some little mudblood whelp apparated in here!?"

"My name's not Evan," Harry said quietly.

"I know that, and you know that," Sirius said very quietly, "But if this lot finds out who you are- well, it wouldn't by fantastic, if you know what I mean. And Evan's not just a muggle name, you ignorant piece of purist puke!" he added in a shout.

"You know who I am?" Harry asked. Sirius nodded.

"I'm Sirius Black," he said, and leaned forward, whispering "I'm your godfather. You know what a godfather is?" Harry nodded.

"Is that how come I app- app-"

"Apparated."

"Is that how come I ap-part-ated here?"

"Could be. What were you thinking of when you disapparated?" Harry looked away from Sirius, and brought his knees up to his chin, clutching them tightly to his chest.

"I dunno," he said. He blinked, and looked around some more, taking in the cell. "Are we in jail?"

"Yes," Sirius said. "We're in Azkaban Prison. Do you know where that is?"

"No. How come I'm in prison?"

"I don't know, you're the one who apparated here."

"How come you're in prison?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

"Am I in prison cause I'm an idiot?"

"Absolutely not," Sirius said, and somewhat awkwardly, for the first time since Harry was an infant, reached out to pet his head. "You're a very bright boy. Not just anyone could apparate past these wards without splinching themselves six ways to Sunday." He looked Harry up and down- the boy was barefoot and wearing too large Muggle play-clothes, probably an emergency change after getting dirty rough housing with the cousin he'd mentioned; a pair of red shorts safety pinned at the waist to make the stretched out elastic fit Harry's slim waist, and an extra-large white polo embroidered with St. Pyr's Primary, half tucked in at the front. He tapped the logo. "Is this where you go to school?" Harry shook his head.

"Uh-uh. Used to go, but Dudley got throwed out for rough playing with Gemma Whitmore so that her arm breaked, so we havta find a new school for next year."

"How old are you, anyways?" Sirius asked. Harry shrugged.

"Dunno."

"Well, how many candles were on your birthday cake?"

"I don't have a birthday."

"Well, what year of school are you in?"

"I'm not in school now."

"Before your lunk of a cousin got you thrown out, what year were you in?"

"Um… Reception."

"Reception," Sirius repeated, and petted Harry's head again. "That makes you four years old now." Harry shrugged.

"How old are you?" Harry asked.

"Twenty five," Sirius said, doing the math. "If your four years old, I'm twenty five."

"Wow," Harry said, "That's really old."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, "I'm really old." Twenty five. Was he already twenty five? He found that the dull monotony of confinement had smoothed his memories together. It was as if eternity has passed by slowly in an instant.

"I can count to twenty five," Harry said shyly. "Wanna see?"

"I'd love to," Sirius said, sitting down beside him. Harry scooted a little closer and began to count.

* * *

A long time later, after Harry had shown Sirius he could count to one hundred forwards, backwards, and by fives, and taught him the Sometimes Y Song, frost began to creep up the bars of his cell door. Harry shivered and sniveled.

"Shh, it's alright, it's alright," Sirius said. "Hide under the blanket and try to think of nothing." Harry stood up and unsteadily tottered over to the bare mattress on the far side of the cell, wrapping himself in the wool blanket curling up in a corner. The air dropped another few degrees as the Dementors made their way down the hall, and Harry began crying. Coriandros Korba, who had gone mad not long after Sirius had arrived, began shrieking. The darkness and sadness closed in around him and everything in Sirius howled out for the scant protection Padfoot offered, but he stood firm in front of the cell door. He had a mission- he had to tell them Harry was here. An Auror should've come by now- apparently, accidental child magic didn't trip the wards. The shadowy figure, a plate in one gnarled scabby hand, floated up, unlocking the door with a wave of its hand, pushing it open.

"Hey," Sirius said. "There's a boy in here. You need to get an Auror to pick him up." The Dementor set the food down on the floor. "Did you hear me?" Sirius demanded, "A child accidentally apparated here! Get the damn Aurors!" The Dementor turned, and floated out of the cell, the door swinging shut and locking behind it. "Hey! The bloody Aurors! You need to- do you understand me!? You need to get a human in here to deal with the damn kid! Are you leaving to get the Aurors!?" The Dementer began to float down the hall. "Hey!" Sirius shouted, slamming on the door, "By Merlin's merciful muckrack, if you don't bring a bloody Auror back with you, you oversized curtain-" The Dementor smoothly turned, and floated back. It reached out it's gnarled fingers, laying them over Sirius's, and it was as if his very marrow had been stabbed by an icicle, it was so cold, and there was a terrible, rattling, sucking sound as it breathed in, and it was hopeless, wasn't it, he really was a traitor and murderer, Lily and James and those Muggles' blood on his dirty useless coward hands, and the black swam up around his vision and his head cracked against the ground.

* * *

His head ached when he woke up. He felt a small sticky palm smoothing over his forehead.

"It's ok… It's ok…" the boy repeated with each stroke.

"I'm ok," Sirius reassured him. Harry jerked his hand away in surprise, but soon replaced it.

"What was that?" Harry asked. "The bad thing, I mean."

"That was a Dementor," Sirius said. "It's gone now."

"Will it be back?"

"Twice a day," Sirius said. Harry started to cry. Sirius sat up, trying not to faint again as blood rushed from his head, and pulled Harry into his lap. "No no, shh, it's ok… You'll be gone soon. An Auror or LEO will come by soon to get you, it'll be alright."

"You keep saying that, but what are those?" Harry asked. Sirius blinked. Maybe the Muggle clothes weren't just from a visit to his cousin- maybe Harry didn't live in the magical world.

"A LEO like a magical Bobbie, who might come since getting lost children home isn't difficult, but here in Azkaban we normally only get Aurors, who are like magical detectives, since the inmates here can be dangerous," he explained. Harry frowned.

"I'm not a baby you know," he said.

"You don't say."

"I know that there's no such thing as magic." Sirius was stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered. Young children had trouble keeping secrets- his relatives probably didn't want to risk attracting any unwanted attention if Harry ran around shouting about wizards.

"Sure there is," he said, "How did you get here then?"

"You said that I appartated."

"Apparated, and yes. Apparition is a kind of magic."

"There's no such thing as magic," Harry stubbornly insisted.

"Well then how did you apparate?"

"I asked the Baby Jesus to take me to someone- to take me somewhere-" Harry paused and squirmed uncomfortably, "I asked the Baby Jesus to take me someplace else, so I guess he made me apparate here."

"The Baby Jesus?"

"Yeah, they talked about him a lot in school. If you're in a bad sit-u-a-tion, the Baby Jesus can save you with a miracle if you ask him to."

"Were you in a bad situation?" Sirius asked. Harry looked away and didn't answer. "Harry? Why did you ask Baby Jesus to save you?"

"I dunno," Harry said.

Sirius tried to set aside his sense of foreboding and said lightly, "Well, maybe the Baby Jesus apparated you here, but it's not a miracle, its magic. I can prove to you magic is real right now."

"I know how the Pound trick works," Harry said. "Ms. Rose showed our class how it works after Dudley tried to knock Pound coins out of my ears."

"No no, this is much better than a trick," Sirius assured him. "Stand up, there's a boy." When Harry was off of his lap, standing in front of him, arms crossed skeptically, Sirius pushed himself from a sitting position to a crouch, and then shifted. Harry shrieked and leapt back, falling onto the mattress, and Padfoot leapt on top of him, licking his face playfully. When he realized that the shrieks were more terrified than they were amused, he shifted back to Sirius. "Hey there," he said, still braced above the cowering boy, "I'm still me, it's fine."

"How did you do that!?" Harry demanded.

"Stop yer shrieking you 'igh-pitched 'inkypunk, it's loud enuff wichout yer racket!" Mullum shouted back.

"Magic," Sirius told Harry, "And don't tell anyone, it's a secret, alright?"

"Magic is a secret?"

"Generally, yes. But I meant specifically about 'Padfoot' I just showed you. I showed you because your my godson, but you can't tell another soul about it, alright?"

"How come?"

"'Padfoot's' not terribly legal, if you understand me."

"Is that how come you're in jail?"

"No, but you could say it's related," Sirius said, sitting up. Harry sat up as well, looking too serious for a five year old boy.

"Is magic being a secret how come my aunt and uncle would get so mad if I talked about it?" he asked.

"Probably."

"But then how come they told me it wasn't real, instead of just telling me it was a secret?"

"I don't know. They had their reasons. If people found out you could do magic, it would be very dangerous."

"Magic is pretty dangerous," Harry said.

"It can be," Sirius said, "But it can also be beautiful. It's… oh, it's awesome and awful, and terrific and terrifying, and transcendently wondrous." Any joy in his description leeched out of him as he realized he'd never do magic again- not real magic, not here in this cell.

"You said that I apparated on accident. Does that mean a person can do magic not on purpose?" Harry asked, breaking him out of a spiral of sadness that could've left him paralyzed with grief as it had in the past.

"Yes, children who don't have total control over their magic sometimes have magical accidents, especially if they're scared or angry. Adults need to use wands for most forms of magic though, so they can focus it."

"Could you do accidental magic?"

"Maybe if my life was in danger. My magical core isn't leaky like a kid's is though, so it doesn't happen as often as it would for you." Harry played with the hem of his shorts, his face twisted oddly.

"Could accidental magic make a thing that doesn't normally blow up blow up?"

"Yes," Sirius said. "Is that why you're scared? Are you scared because you accidentally made something explode?" Harry shrugged.

"I dunno."

"You don't know. Well, when the Auror comes to take you home-"

"Take me home!?" Harry shouted jumping up. "I can't go home! They'll kill me! They'll kill me! They're gonna kill me!"

"Calm down! Who's going to kill you?"

"I'll kill the fukken Jameson twerp if he don't shut his fukken face this second!" Phelps called back.

"Shut up Phelps!" Sirius roared back. "It's fine, it's fine, kids blow up things on accident all the time- I guarantee an Accidental Magic Reversal Team has already fixed anything you broke and explained things to your uncle, and if worse comes to worse they can just replace it- no one's going to kill you," he said more gently to Harry, grabbing him and pulling him back on the mattress.

"He said he'd do it!" Harry cried, hysterically, burying his face into Sirius' side even as he pounded on his shoulder. "He threw me in the cupboard and said he would kill me as soon as they got back from hospital!"

"Who did?" Sirius asked. "Your uncle?" Harry nodded miserably, and sobbed. He was crying so hard Sirius could feel a wet patch forming in the dull grey robes he was wearing. "Hey there Harry," Sirius whispere, rubbing his back, wanting to reassure the boy but fearful Mullum would hear him. "What did you blow up? It's fine to tell me, I promise. I won't tell anyone else if you don't want to."

"My cousin," Harry said miserably, in a tear thick voice, "I blowed up my cousin!"

* * *

"Dudley is my cousin, and it's not fair at all. He gets two bedrooms, and all the toys, and he gets to eat first and it's not fair at all! But today Dudley went to the carnival with his parents and I had to stay with Mrs. Figg, and she gave me a present cause its almost Easter. It was a fire engine, and it was as big as her cat Mittens, and if you pulled it back it would roll forward on its own, and you could press a button to make it light up and siren and it had a little ladder that grew out and it was the best thing ever cause I'm gonna be a fireman when I grow up.

"But when they comed home and Mrs. Figg walked me back over, stupid Dudley saw the fire engine and ripped it out of my hands and ran up the stairs! I chased up after him, but he shoved me down and I got bruised and he said it was his toy. Aunt Petunia asked us what the ruckus was and I told her it was my toy but she said it wasn't, it was only fair Dudley got the fire engine and when I tried to argue she grounded me in the cupboard till dinner which was hours away and stupid Dudley started playing with it right in front of me at the top of the stairs and he broke the growing ladder off and I was so mad and then the fire engine blowed up and Dudley started screaming and I started screaming and Aunt Petunia started screaming and Uncle Vernon shouted what the bloody racket was and then Dudley ran down the stairs and plastic bits were in his face and he was bleeding and Uncle Vernon started screaming too.

"Aunt Petunia picked Dudley up and ran out of our house and Uncle Vernon grabbed me and throwed me in the cupboard and told me that when they got back he'd kill me for what I did to Dudley and I started crying and he locked the door and I asked the Baby Jesus to take me to someone who'd love me like family and here I am and I can't go back cause they'll kill me, they'll kill me!"

* * *

"I'll kill them," Sirius said. "I'll kill those thrice cursed Muggles myself."

"Please don't be mad," Harry said miserably, having stopped crying through his monologue but still quite snivelly.

"I'm not mad at you," Sirius said, "You don't ever threaten a kid, especially not my godson. Listen," he said, "When the Auror comes, you tell them what happened- I know it's scary, but if you tell them what happened, I'm sure they can find you a safe place to live, ok?"

"Ok," Harry agreed, and blew his nose into his shirt sleeve.

"There's a boy," Sirius said, and stood up and walked over to the cell door, picking up the food tray. "Here," he said, setting it between them on the mattress. The food was the usual meager affair- two hard rolls and quickly cooling cabbage soup. "I know it's nasty, but it looks like you might have to wait a little longer than I expected. You should eat something."

"How much can I eat?" Harry asked.

"As much as you want," Sirius said, snagging one of the rolls. "I'm an adult, so my stomach is smaller than yours."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"What do you know? You didn't even know magic was real till today. I know how my own stomach works, so have as much of that as you can stand." He broke the roll in half and peeled off a piece of crust, throwing it in his mouth and setting about chewing it one hundred times to make it seem like more. Harry hesitantly took the other roll and started gnawing on it, finally giving up and throwing it in the cabbage soup to soak. He picked up the bowl and spoon and tried some of the soup, making a face as he did so. "Have a little more," Sirius encouraged him, ripping off his second piece of crust, "It tastes better the more you eat." Harry stabbed at the now soggy roll with his spoon. Eventually, he managed to finish the roll and most of the soup, passing what was left to Sirius who promptly drank it, forcing himself to drink the lukewarm and congealing liquid slowly so as not to betray his hunger to Harry. Putting the bowl and spoon back on the tray, he stood and crossed the small cell to put the tray back by the door. "Ok, that wash up," Sirius said, gesturing to the small sink in the corner of the room.

"Ummm," Harry said.

"No arguing, let's wash our hands."

"No, I'm not arguing, I need to… ummmm…" Sirius noticed Harry squirming where he sat.

"Oh. You need to go?" Harry nodded furiously. Sirius gestured to the chamberpot by the sink. "It's self-banishing, so don't worry about that. Just aim straight and you're good to go, as it were." Harry got up and walked over. He looked at the pot, then looked back at Sirius, staring. Sirius reached over and turned on the faucet, releasing a torrent of cold, brackish water.

"I'll be over here," he said, and walked over to the window, leaning his head through the gap in the bars.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Don't mention it," Sirius said, and watched the sun go down over the green strip of coast on the horizon. In the dying light, it was the same color as Harry's eyes.

* * *

A/N: Alright, I hate long author's notes so I'll keep this brief. This is the beginning of a multi-chapter fic, and I'd like to know what you think so far. It is inspired in part by "Wishcraft" by Taint of Taia, which I admit I never finished because I read the first chapter and was immediately overcome by plot bunnies, by the film Leonera, and the book "Room" by Emma Donoghue. I say inspired, because although the early chapters contain some influences from those works and this first chapter is basically the same premise as Wishcraft, the later chapters I have planned go in a wildly different direction. I also want to assure you this isn't going to be weirdly religious fic or anything- this is the only time the Baby Jesus will be making an appearance. Also, St. Pyr is a real saint, and he is hilarious- the way his story was told to me, he was basically made a saint because of an accident in paperwork. Bonus points if you catch the Old English name pun. Thank you for reading, and I hope to have the next chapter up soon!


	2. In a Castle By the Sea, Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related works

* * *

Sirius woke up the next morning and wished he hadn't. Harry, still curled up against his side, was crying in his sleep, shivering against the cold, and Merlin, what was even the point of trying to take care of the boy, it was Sirius' fault his parents were dead, wasn't it, it was his fault they were here in this hell hole with the bloody Dementors-

Dementors. Right. Sirius blinked, and awkwardly stood up, trying not to disturb Harry in the process. His mission- to get the Aurors- it was first thing in the morning now. They'd had time to travel and get paperwork and sort out Harry's Muggle relatives- they had to be here by now. He stumbled over to the door, which creaked open as the Dementor floated in, replacing the old tray with a new one.

"It's about time you showed up," Sirius said, focusing on his mission against the cold, "It's been a full day!" The Dementor glided away, the door closing behind it, locking. "Oy, you narf! How's the Auror going to-" and he stopped, blinking. He leaned up against the door, looking as far as he could out of it. There was no Auror. "Merlin's beard," he cursed, "Those drowsy, useless, overrated, god damn gendarmes-"

"Is the bad thing gone?" Harry asked sleepily from the mattress.

"Yeah," Sirius said, picking up the tray. "Sorry, but there's no one here to pick you up just yet."

"Maybe no one's coming," Harry said. "Maybe I have to stay in prison cause I blowed up Dudley."

"Someone's coming for you- they don't put kids in prison for accidents."

"Maybe no one's coming cause I'm a freak and no one wants me."

"Don't you say that," Sirius said, sitting down next to Harry and grabbing the boys hand. "Don't you say that, ok? People are coming for you, you are not a freak, you're a very special little boy, and lots of people love you. It's just hard to remember right now because of the Dementors."

"How come the Dementors make it hard to remember?" Harry asked. Sirius thought for minute and shrugged.

"Because of magic. I don't know."

"I don't like magic very much," Harry said, sitting up, looking very serious. Sirius gave a bark of laughter.

"You've just had a rough start," he said. "Get them to take you to Diagon Alley before they sort you out- then you can actually see some magic before you decide you don't like it."

"Kay," Harry said. He looked down at the tray Sirius had set besides the mattress. "Is that breakfast?"

"We'll have to save some for lunch," Sirius said. Breakfast was a bit bigger than dinner, but not by much, consisting of a bowl of oatmeal, two slightly weazened apples, a cup of tea, and a piece bread. Harry awkwardly picked up the bowl of oatmeal, and took a bite. It dribbled out of his mouth, back into the bowl, as he made a face.

"It's salty," he complained.

"Some people like it with salt."

"I don't like it salty."

"Eat some more, it's good for you." Harry had another bite, face twisting like a dishrag as he forced himself to swallow.

"I think that oatmeal is a grown up food," Harry said, passing the bowl to Sirius. "Bread is better for kids."

"You think so?" Sirius said, balancing the bowl in his lap as he took the apples and mug off of the tray. Harry nodded, his cheeks chipmunking out with half of the bread. "You should eat slower," Sirius said, and bit down on his thumb, breaking the skin, "It'll make you feel less hungry."

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. Sirius had picked up the food tray- the metal sheet was small, about the size of a text book, and blood was not the best medium for messages. He pushed his pointer finger against his thumb, drawing out some blood.

"I'm beginning to doubt the abilities of Dementors to understand English," he said, and wrote GET LEOS in large, messy letters and set it aside to dry. "I'm pretty sure house elves are making the food and doing the dishes," he said, "They can get someone to pick you up." He picked up the oatmeal and started to eat.

"Aiden said that elves lived at the North Pole, but Aunt Petunia said elves were only in stories."

"Well, they're both wrong as far as I know, but they are in stories," Sirius said, figuring he still needed to kill about eight hours when the Dementors would come back to get the tray. He took another bite of oatmeal, swallowed, and began the story. "Once upon a time, there was wizard named Bertram, who had a house elf named Reginald, who was forever sorting out Bertram's problems…"

* * *

"Oh, this is some bullshit!" Sirius snapped the next morning, shaking the cell door in impotent anger.

"Sickle in a swear jar," Harry mumbled, tottering over from the mattress to the tray, taking a sip of tea. Yesterday had past uneventfully, but now the sun had risen on Harry's third day in Azkaban, with still no Auror in sight.

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius grumbled, kneeling down beside him, roughly removing the food from the tray to write another message. He inhaled sharply in a huff, then frowned, and grabbed Harry's head, pulling him closer and inhaling deeply.

"You're being weird," Harry said, pulling away and taking another sip of tea.

"You're being smelly," Sirius said back. He picked the scab off of his thumb, pushing on it to draw up blood again, and wrote "BOY HERE HEP" growling in frustration as the L and P squished together when he ran out of room at the bottom.

"You're smelly more," Harry retorted.

"You're probably right," Sirius said, his frown deepening. When was the last time he had cleaned himself properly? He realized with a dim sense of shame he had stopped trying sometime before Fudge's first inspection, after a few months of imprisonment. For a moment, he felt thankful for Azkaban's ban on mirrors, since they were both a handy source of sharp objects and a potent force for old magic. He had no way of knowing how much he'd changed from the boy he'd been. "Alright!" he declared, setting the tray by the door, "I now declare this day Personal Hygiene Day."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

"Bath time," Sirius said. He pointed his finger out, twirling it like an imaginary wand and intoned, "Manus Ascendus, scalliwag!" as his mother had in his youth, though she had often used a real wand. Hesitantly, Harry raised his arms. The positive thing about having a shirt so large was that it didn't even catch on his head when Sirius lifted it off his head and tossed it a few feet into the small sink.

"How come I gotta take a bath before you do?" Harry griped as Sirius scooped him up, carrying him to the sink and turning the faucet on.

"Because A, you're smaller and less dirty then I am, so it'll take less time," Sirius said, "And B, of the two of us you are going to be going back to society the soonest. And how do you want to go, nice and clean or a pile of filth?" He picked the shirt out of the water and tried to scrub at Harry's face. The boy squealed from the cold and leaned back in Sirius' arms, flailing wildly and slapping at him.

"Pile of filth! Pile of filth!" he cried.

"You know, you weren't nearly this much of a baby about baths when you were an actual baby."

"You knowed me when I was a baby?" Harry asked, his flailing stopping, his eyes wide with interests.

"Yes," Sirius said, and wiped Harry's face again, a little more gently. "When you were a little baby, there was a war on. Your parents often had very important missions that only they could do, and since I was your godfather I'd babysit you often…" he set Harry on the ground as he continued the story. He lifted up Harry's arms one by one and scrubbed as hard as he could without breaking Harry's focus on the story, since he knew they were the source of most of the smell. "…then, just when I'd managed to throw the neighbor's kneazle out of the kitchen window, I realized that you had crawled off and gotten into the pantry, which I'd left ajar," he paused his recitation, wringing the shirt out in the sink and getting fresh water on it. "Can you clean up below the belt, or do you want my help?" Harry quickly shucked his shorts and pants and grabbed his shirt when Sirius offered it to him.

"What happened when I was in the pantry?" Harry asked, scrubbing up and down his legs.

"Well," Sirius said, "Hidden in the pantry, for when you got a little older, was a FeatherDuststorm, a top of the line toy broom I'd gotten for your first birthday, because I'm the best godfather ever. Lily, your mother, thought you were still too young for it, so in the pantry it remained… until you found it and, knowing quality when you say it, reached out and grabbed it. Now, the FeatherDuststorm was designed to respond to even the lightest touch…" He continued the story, stretching it out as much as he could till Harry seemed clean enough to him, then he took the shirt back and wrung it out in the sink, "…so there were your parents, standing at the door, watching me chase you back and forth across the living room while you flew around, clinging to the broom, dripping like a little raincloud!" Harry cackled, clapping his hands, and Sirius felt his face twist into a smile as he hung the shirt on the edge of the window to dry. He turned, and saw that Harry had pulled his oversized shorts back on. They were still filthy, but it was probably for the best that he got dressed, Sirius decided. The less often Harry was naked, the less likely it was that an Auror would finally show up to fetch him at an inopportune moment and kill Sirius. He scooped up the little boy and held him over the sink. "Stick your head in the water and scrub! Scrub! Scrub!" he chanted, as Harry washed frantically at his tangled locks.

"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold!" Harry chanted back, shivering as a sea breeze blew through their window. Sirius set him on the ground.

"Go wrap up in the blanket," he said, and stuck his own head under the faucet. Scrubbing fruitlessly at it, he realized just how long his hair had grown- it was at least to his shoulder blades, but had become so knotted it was hard to tell it's full length. "Ugh, my hairs become bloody rat's nest, hasn't it Harry?" Harry giggled as Sirius picked fruitlessly at the matted mess his hair had become.

"Um, Mr…. Mr…"

"Oh, just call me Padfoot. Or Paddy. Everyone did before I…" and Sirius trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Harry giggled again, at the silliness of the name. "Paddy then," he said, "You knowed my mummy and daddy before they died, right?"

"Yes," Sirius said, giving up on his hair for the moment and shucking the canvas prison robe, exposing the loose fitting trousers beneath it. "Your father and I were best friends, and your mother was eventually won over by my roguish charms."

"Could you tell me a story about them while you wash maybe please? If it's ok," he asked.

"Sure," said Sirius, soaking the edge of his robe and scrubbing at the long encrusted dirt on his skin. "Once upon a time there were four very good friends, and their names were Moony, Worm-" and he stopped short, the words caught in his throat. Wormtail, Peter, his friend, the boy who'd been accomplice and alibi and look-out and assistant, the man he'd trusted above all others, the murdering, lying, traitorous scum, they said that he'd killed him but he wanted to kill him a thousand times more, to kill him and kill him and kill him and kill-

"There were four very good friends and their names were…" Harry prompted. Sirius caught himself in his rage, and breathed in deep, burying it as best he could.

"I lied," he said. "There were three very good friends. Their names were Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs. I'm Padfoot, of course, and Prongs was your father- he was the cleverest in our class, and the leader. And Moony- well, he's Moony. He's… I don't know, sweet and patient, and probably a better friend to me than I was to him. Anyways," he continued, not letting himself go down that path, "The three very good friends met on a train to a magical school called Hogwarts, where they would have to do battle with evil snakes called Slytherins, who loved to prank Gryffindors, which the three boys were. But little did the evil snakes know they had met their match in the Marauders…"

* * *

A/N: And second chapter done! Thank you very much for reading, and to all of you who reviewed, followed, or favorited the story! It was very motivational :) Azkaban is proving trickier to write than expected- my characters are trapped in a six by eight box and incapable of happiness, lol. This chapter was a little slow, but it's establishing some things for the next chapter when things will start to pick up, if it goes according to plan! Also, Manus Ascendus is not correct Latin, but Harry Potter spells seem to focus more on euphonics the grammatical correctness, so I think it's fair play.


	3. In a Castle By the Sea, Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related works.

* * *

When Sirius woke to Harry's cries as the Dementor slipped in and out of their cell, one week after he'd first apparated in, he decided it was time to take matters into their own hands.

"What are we gonna do?" Harry asked, eating the salty oatmeal, hunger having given him a taste for it.

"Well, if you apparated in here," Sirius said, scrawling GET HELP on the tray and setting it aside, "It only follows that you can apparate out."

"But I don't know how to apparate."

"I do."

"So how come you don't apparate out?"

"Because the wards stop me."

"But then how come the wards won't stop me?"

"Because you're a kid," Sirius said, "And your magic is freakish and chaotic and breaks all sorts of rules."

"My magic is freakish?" Harry asked sadly.

"Only your magic. You're not freakish at all, understand?"

"Understand."

"Ok, now, picture a safe place."

"Where?"

"I don't know, where do you feel safe?"

"I dunno."

"Your school?"

"No."

"Your, er, church?"

"Don't go. It was at the same time as Dudley's cartoons."

"Fine, neighbor's house?"

"Too many cats!"

"It's not about your preferences, it's about safety."

"Cats are dan-ger-ous!"

"You're ridiculous. Fine, a friend's house."

"Don't have friends."

"Do you want to stay in this hell hole?" Sirius snapped. Harry flinched back and balled up.

"Noooo…" he said.

"Then pick the first public place that pops into your head and focus on it!" Sirius said. Harry flinched again. "Are you focusing!?" Sirius demanded.

"What's a public place?" Harry asked. Sirius huffed, irritated.

"It's a place that's not your house."

"Aunt Petunia didn't let me leave the house e'cept for school, cause it weren't safe for me to be around people," Harry said unhappily. Sirius scrubbed his face, as unhappy as Harry was. He had to get Harry out of here, but the boy didn't know of any place but home, apparently, and he couldn't send him back there. Or could he? Maybe the Muggles weren't that bad, Sirius thought. Petunia certainly had the right idea, not letting Harry out in crowds where just any dark wizard could reach out and grab him. Clearly she cared about the boy's safety. Maybe Harry's uncle just had a short temper- Harry had just nearly killed his son, after all. Sometimes people said or did stupid, hateful things when they were angry that they regretted later, Sirius thought, remembering that full moon in fifth year, when drunk on fury he'd told Snape to crawl under the Whomping Willow. They were probably worried sick about Harry.

"How about you try thinking about your home?" Sirius suggested.

"No!" Harry shrieked, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"Shut. Up! It is too fukken early for your noise, you damn dirty-blooded brat!" Phelps hollered.

"Harry, you're being a baby," Sirius hissed, "Can your family possibly be worse than this?"

"They're not my family!" Harry screamed, "They hate me!"

"They do not," Sirius said. "You're four. How could they possibly hate you?"

"They do!" Harry screamed back, face red, "They said that I'm a burden an' a freak an' a spiteful little thing that'll just, that'll just, that'll hurt normal people if I'm near them, and they're right!" Harry's screams broke into sobs, and he choked out, "They're right! I am bad! I hurted Dudley just cause he made me mad, and, and-"

"Shut up," Sirius said, grabbing Harry roughly and pulling him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. "Forget I said anything. You aren't going back there." Harry sniffled and crawled up into Sirius' lap, hugging him back.

"I wasn't thinking about a place when I apparated," Harry said, wiping his face with the back of one hand. "I was thinking about family."

"Yeah?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "You're my godfather. You're not my daddy, but you are my Paddy, and that's just as good."

"No it's not," Sirius said. "I could never be as good as James- he was so great, Harry, and you don't even know-" he cut himself off, the lump in his throat threatening to burst and he absolutely could not lose it, not in front of Harry, not in front of James' son. "He saved me, you know," Sirius continued, "Your father did. My family was like yours. And other people were like me, and didn't believe it could be that bad. But your dad, he helped me get out of there- he let me stay with him, he put up with me even when I was being a little shit, he… He was my best friend," he finished. "The best."

"He saved you, and you saved me," Harry said. "Now we're family, and we love each other and we're going to stay together, right?"

"Oh Merlin, I wish I could save you- but I can't. I'm a prisoner. I'm going to die in this fucking cell. You can't stay with me. You can't."

"But we're still family, right?" Harry asked. Sirius laughed, and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah," he said fondly, "We're still family." Sirius thought hard- where could Harry go? "Hey," he said. "Do you remember Moony, from my stories?"

"I 'member you telling me 'bout him," Harry said.

"Right, good. Now think about him, as hard as you can."

"But I don't know him."

"Well, you didn't know me either, did you?"

"No…"

"Right, so just think about the concept of him as hard as you can."

"Um, kay…" Harry said. He closed his eyes and frowned in concentration, crossing his arms.

"Alright," Sirius said, trying to remember his own apparition lessons, "Now picture yourself being squeezed down a tube and popping out the other end."

"It's not working," Harry said after a minute, opening one eye.

"Keep concentrating," Sirius said, scooping Harry up and setting him beside him, in case holding him was stopping him because it would be side-along apparition, "Remember the Three Ds- Destination, Determination, and… whatever. Two Ds. Let your magic pull you along!" Harry closed his eyes again. His frown deepened. Sirius watched him anxiously.

"It's not working!" Harry said in a huff.

"Well, what were you doing when you got here?" Sirius asked. "In a small dark space, check, thinking about a person, check…"

"I was asking the Baby Jesus to take me," Harry said. "Should I ask him again?"

"Yeah, sure," Sirius said. Harry closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, and started whispering very quietly to himself. Sirius kept thinking- what else could they do? Harry had apparated because Sirius was the nearest thing to family he had besides the bloody muggles, and Remus was good in that regard, he'd apparated via prayer, which he was doing now…

He'd apparated because he was scared, Sirius realized. He'd been frightened that his uncle would kill him. Accidental magic kicked in not because kids wanted it, but because of strong emotions, because they were afraid. And Harry was scared of dogs.

Sirius shifted to Padfoot and lunged at Harry, knocking him over. Harry screamed, terrified. Padfoot barked as loudly as he could, pawed at him with his claws, baring his teeth and snarling. Harry punched him as hard as he could with his small fist, kicking at him with his legs, crying. Padfoot twisted back to Sirius.

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to scare you into-" Sirius tried to explain but was cut short by Harry punching him again, hard in the jaw.

"Go away!" he screamed. "Get off of me!" Sirius pushed up, scooting away a bit. Harry kicked at him, red faced with fury, though Sirius was too far away for the kicks to connect. "No!" he shouted. "Go! Away!"

"I tol' you to shut it!" Phelps shouted.

"You shut it!" Harry screamed back. "You're bad!" he shouted at Sirius, "You said we were family but you 'tacked me! I hate you!"

"I'm sorry-" Sirius tried again.

"No!" Harry yelled. He pointed to the other side of the cell. "Go away!" Sighing, Sirius walked over to the other side and sat down leaning against the wall.

"This is my side of the room," Harry said, pulling the blanket over his head. "You can't come over here."

"Alright," Sirius said.

"Don't talk to me," Harry said. Sirius let his head drop back against the wall and watched the lump on the mattress, waiting.

Hours later, when the tell-tale frost began to creep up the bars of their cell, Sirius shifted into Padfoot and curled up. The door swung open but he felt nothing but cold and a vague sense of foreboding as the Dementor slipped in, the animal form offering him some protection. The ghastly hand slipped out of the shapeless robe, depositing their dinner and picking up the old tray and dishes. The Dementor paused, not turning and exiting immediately like it usually did. The cell door swung shut behind it. Padfoot perked up, and growled lowly. The Dementor began to drift closer to Harry, who was still curled up underneath the blanket. Padfoot sprinted forward and leapt on top of the boy. The Dementor hovered there, watching him with sightless eyes, and Padfoot thought as loudly as he could. Finally, the Dementor turned slowly and drifted out of their room, the door swinging open and shut. Sirius turned back to himself and slid down to sit on the floor besides Harry. He reached over, tapping the lump.

"Are you alright?" he asked. There was no response. Hesitant to upset the boy again, he slowly grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it down to expose Harry's head. His eyes were shut, and his face listless. He grabbed his shoulder and shook it. "Harry?" he whispered. "Are you alright?"

"Was you screaming?" Harry asked blearily, blinking his eyes as he slowly woke up.

"No, no one was screaming."

"I heard a screaming," Harry said, "And a light."

"It was just a bad dream," Sirius said, petted his head.

"I'm still mad at you," Harry said.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Sirius said, "But I was trying to get your magic to activate so you could apparate out of here. This place was made to drive full-grown wizards mad- it's absolutely no place for a child."

"Are you gonna try and scare me again?" Harry asked. Sirius shook his head. "Promise?" Harry demanded.

"I solemnly swear I won't try to scare you into apparating again," Sirius said, crossing his heart.

"Kay," said Harry. "What do we do now?"

"Now," Sirius said, "We wait."

* * *

The days stretched on in monotonous repetition, in much the same way they had before Harry had apparated into his cell. Sirius did his best to take care of the boy, giving him most of their food and making him rinse off in the sink every few days, but there was only so much he could do when trapped in a tiny stone box.

"Bored, bored, bored, bored," Harry droned to himself, lying on the ground, drumming his heels against the wall.

"Stop it," Sirius told him.

"But I'm bored, bored, bored…"

"Have you tried apparating today?" Sirius asked.

"Yeeeeees."

"Well, try again." Harry closed his eyes and ceased his kicking for a moment. He quickly started again.

"Didn't work. Still booooooored, bored, bored…"

"Ok, shut up and stand up," Sirius said.

"Why?" Harry asked, righting himself.

"Physical education," Sirius said. "You did that in your school, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Alright then. Let's do twenty laps across the room. Ready… set… go!" The cell was about 8 feet long on its longest side, and Sirius could cover the distance in two bounds. He made himself to take small step and run slowly to stay at Harry's pace. Even still, he was surprised to find himself a bit winded at the end of the laps.

"What next?" Harry asked.

"You pick."

"Time me!" Harry said, and took off running, practically bouncing from one wall to the other. Sirius leaned against the wall and counted the seconds.

* * *

"Woah, careful!" Sirius said, rushing over and grabbing Harry. The boy had clambered up onto the window sill, and had stuck the upper half of his body out .

"It's alright," Harry said, "I can't get out, so I can't fall."

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked.

"I thought maybe I could get out and swim over there," Harry said, gesturing to the shore, "But I can't fit."

"It's too far for you to swim, anyways," Sirius said. "At least six, maybe seven, miles."

"Could you swim it?"

"Maybe, but I can't get out either." Harry leaned around the side of the window, messing with the grout cementing the stones of the wall together.

"What if we went through the door?" he asked.

"We can't do that," Sirius said.

"I got it!" Harry said, and leaned back through the window, slipping and losing his balance. Sirius caught him, and set him on the floor. Harry was grasping a whitish rock which had been jammed in the grout. He turned to the wall next to the window and tried to draw with it, using it like chalk. "How come we can't go through the door?" he asked.

"It's too narrow," Sirius answered. "We'd bump into the Dementor and pass out, like on the first day you were here with me."

"Well, what if we sneaked by it?" Harry asked.

"The Dementors are blind, and not too smart," said Sirius. "They wouldn't know that you were a kid, they'd just know that no one is supposed to be in the halls. They have permission to kiss anyone they find out of the cells."

"What's so bad about kissing?" Harry asked, frowning as he worked on his drawing.

"If a Dementor kisses you, it… well, it basically kills you," Sirius explained. It was actually worse then death- the soul was completely destroyed in the process. But Harry didn't need to know that.

"Oh," said Harry. He passed the chalk to Sirius. "Write the words for me," he said, pointing to the potato like people he'd drawn on the wall.

"What words do you want?" Sirius asked.

"Paddy," he said, pointing to the bigger blob, "And Harry," he said, pointing to the smaller one.

"Wotchu say, boy?" Orm Mullum asked from the cell adjacent to theirs.

"He said Paddy and Evan you deaf doxy!" Sirius hollered back, writing the names above the drawings as best he could with the chunky stone.

"Did you write Harry or Evan?" Harry whispered to Sirius.

"What letter does Evan start with?" Sirius asked.

"E…"

"And what letter does that word start with?"

"Um… E?"

"Right. So what name did I write?" he asked. Harry frowned.

"How come you writed Evan?" Harry asked. Sirius blinked. He supposed there was no real reason for him to have written the false name, given no one else came into their cell.

"Habit," he said finally, shrugging. Harry seemed to accept this fairly easily.

"Can you write me some more words?" Harry asked.

"Sure," said Sirius. "Name away."

* * *

The days were growing longer, as summer began, and the conditions were starting to take a toll on Harry.

"I hate it here! I hate it here! How come no one's found me yet!?" he screamed.

"Good! Focus on how much you hate it here, and then think about Moony, and try to apparate," Sirius encouraged him.

"That won't work!" Harry yelled. "Moony's not my family! You said so yourself!"

"When did I say that?"

"You're my godfather," Harry said, "And he's just a friend."

"Godfather," Sirius repeated, and laughed hoarsely to himself. "I guess those muggle vows meant something after all."

"Huh?" Harry said, stopping his tantrum in his confusion.

"When your mother had you baptized," Sirius explained, "I took vows to protect you and such. When you were put in danger- at first I thought you came here just because Prongs and I were so close. But now I see that it was more likely because you and I were bound together through the vows I took, even though they weren't exactly magical."

"Oh," Harry said. He walked over and started kicking the door. "I still hate it here! I hate it here! I hate it here!" Sirius covered his ears to the noise, as Phelps began to let loose a stream of profanity that Harry repeated right back at him like an obscene mockingbird, which only served to make Phelps more furious. This started a feedback loop- the more angry Phelps became, the more colorful his swearing got, the funnier Harry found it to repeat back at him, the angrier Phelps got, and the louder the two of them became. Sirius folded half of the thin mattress over he head, muffling the deafening screams echoing off of the walls of the small room. If worst came to worse, it would only be for a month or two more, he thought to himself. The Minister always did inspection around midsummer, and Harry would be taken away. Perversely, he knew he would miss the time he'd gotten to spend with his godson, even under the terrible conditions. He was a good lad, he thought, and winced at a particularly ear-shattering shriek, even if he was absolutely maddening at times.

* * *

The days had grown longer, and soon they began to draw shorter again, the temperatures dropping degree by degree. It was then Sirius began to worry. Any day now, he thought, the inspection had to be any day now. The Minister always came once a year- it wouldn't have been cancelled. But what on earth was taking so bloody long!?

Especially worrisome was the Dementors increasing interest in Harry. Sirius tried to be Padfoot whenever the Dementors were about, hoping they would focus on the one human in the cell and not notice the much fainter emotions of an animal, but he couldn't be sure if it was working. At least once a week now the Dementor would corner Harry where ever he was hiding, something about the child's emotions growing more attractive by the day.

One morning, he was roused not by the telltale cold of the Dementors, but the rustling as Harry rolled out of bed.

"Wha're you doin'?" he asked blearily, rolling over and rubbing his eyes.

"Shh," Harry said, crouching at the wall by the door.

"Ha- Evan? What are you doing?" Sirius repeated, sitting up.

"I've gotten lots faster in laps, haven't I?" Harry said.

"Now's not a good time for laps," Sirius said. "Come back away from the door, you don't want to get close to the Dementors." The frost was forming on the bars- the Dementor would enter any second.

"The Dementors won't stop bothering me," said Harry grimly, "And your messages haven't worked, and I can't figure out how to apparate. I gotta get out some other way."

The door swung open as the Dementor slipped into their room, and Harry darted past it into the hall.

"No!" Sirius screamed, and raced after him. The Dementor had already turned to follow Harry, the door swinging shut. Sirius leapt, and managed to half make it out, his body blocking the door from closing. It squeezed around his midsection, still trying to close, as he struggled to make it to Harry. The little boy had been getting faster at laps, but it he couldn't out run the Dementors- they were swarming, surrounding him. Harry screamed and stumbled, doubling over on the floor, sobbing, unable to move as they began to duck down ever closer in their flight, circling him, inhaling with eerie sounds, particles of light flying free from the boy. Sirius finally freed himself and sprinted into the fray. He thought about turning into Padfoot- but no, he could clearly be seen by the other prisoners- they couldn't find out his secret. "Leave him alone!" he shouted at the Dementors, batting at them. When his hand made contact the feeling of being frozen down to his marrow returned, but he did successfully draw off the attention from Harry. He fell backwards, like a puppet with its strings cut, his mouth gaping open of its own accord. Theere was a ticklish feeling in his throat, like a thing with feathers battering its way out. There was a bright light, even as the darkness overcame him.

"Leave! My! Paddy! Alone!" Harry screamed out. There was a blinding silver light.

Sirius coughed and rolled over, blinking hard. The hallway was clear.

"What happened?" he asked.

"A silver thing came out of me," Harry said, "And made the bad things go away." An accidental patronus, Sirius thought. First apparation, and now a bloody patronus. Harry certainly wasn't one to do things by half measures. He scooped up the boy and raced down the hall on unsteady legs.

"They'll be back," he said, frantically twisting down the maze like cooridors, past screaming prisoners, hoping to find a way out. Finally, they came to an exit, still locked. "Damnit!" Sirius said, kicking the door.

"Wait," said Harry, and squeezed himself through the bars onto the beach outside. "You try." Sirius did, but although the bars were more widely set than those on their window or door, he still got stuck around the shoulders. "Try Padfoot," Harry suggested. Sirius shifted, and sure enough, with a little twisting his dog form was able to just barely fit through the bars. He shifted back into Sirius and put Harry on his back.

"Don't let go," he said, and ran into the water, already frigid even though it was still summer. Almost immediately his robes began to weigh him down. Before they'd even reached the first sandbar, he'd had to shift into Padfoot. Harry scrambled around his neck, but managed to maintain a firm grip, even if it did choke him a bit. He didn't mind though- even as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him as he fought the currents on his swim to shore, feeling Harry's warm weight on his back reminded him why he was doing this. It wasn't just him who'd escaped- he had to get Harry to safety. He fixed his eyes on the coast and kept swimming.

* * *

AN: Well that was like pulling teeth! I had a lot of ideas I wanted to include in this chapter, though some of them wound up on the editing room floor as it were. Hopefully the emotional rollercoaster at the beginning was effective, as was my attempt at a literary montage to show time passing without actually having to write out every boring minute of it, ha ha. This was also a bit slower than my last update, owing to an increase in work and the headcold from hell. First part of the story done… now for the rest! Thank you to everyone read, and extra thank yous to anyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited!


	4. Dog Days, Part 1

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related works

* * *

The North Sea currents pushed them ever southwards as Padfoot struggled to shore. Harry nearly slipped off several times in the choppy spray- the first few times he scrabbled back on quickly, regaining his grip, but the last time he was nearly washed away. Sirius quickly turned back into his human form and grabbed the boy, pulling him close, as another wave swelled and crashed over them. His robes, heavy with water, dragged him down, and he panicked, but before he transformed, his feet touched sand. As the wave receded, he bobbed awkwardly in the still deep water, and turned back around. Wiping the salt from his human eyes, the shore was no longer a yellowy-green smear on the horizon, but was actually quite close. Another wave nearly toppled them over, and Sirius redoubled his grip on Harry and slowly walked the last few hundred yards from the sandbar to beach. When the waves were nothing more than foam around his ankles, he finally allowed himself to collapse. Harry cried out as they crashed into the sand, but managed to wriggle out from under him.

"Paddy?" Harry asked, shaking his shoulder. "Paddy? Y'ok?"

"Oh my god!" a cigarette roughened, yet still feminine, voice cried out, "Are you alright?" Sirius managed to roll over to face the sound of the approaching footsteps, but didn't manage to say anything, retching instead. Seawater mixed with the remains of last night's potato on the sand beside him. "Oh, Christ," the woman swore, "Just- stay there, alright?" Not going anywhere, Sirius thought vaguely, and saw the woman jogging away. He closed his eyes, and let himself rest for a few moments. He'd just swum for Merlin only knew how long, hadn't eaten in at least twelve hours, and would've gladly strangled a grindylow for a sip of water. Although he was once more on dry land, he could feel his awareness drifting ever further into the dark sea of unconsciousness.

"Paddy?" Harry's small voice was like a beacon, calling him back. His eyes snapped open and he rolled back onto his back.

"'M up," he said roughly, and, with some effort, managed to sit up, then slowly struggled to his feet. At that moment, a car pulled up.

"Are you feeling better? Jesus, mate, you look like death warmed over, the both of you," the woman for before said, hopping out of the still running car. She was quite a looker, in the sense that one couldn't stop staring once she was noticed. From the gold chain connecting her nose stud to the half dozen or so piercings running up her left ear, to her shorn head, the middle aged woman had a stunning affect. Nearly six feet tall and with shoulders twice as broad as Sirius', she was built less like a brick house and more like a concrete wall. "Come on then," she said, slipping one arm around him, easily half-carrying him around to the passenger side, "Let's get you to hospital."

"No!" Sirius shouted. "No bloody hospitals!" He and Harry would be separated in a hospital, and he couldn't allow that- at least, not yet. The last time Harry's care had been left to Muggles, they'd allowed his relatives to neglect and abuse him- the stories Harry had shared in the months they spent together revealing not just a disturbing incident or two but a pattern of behavior. He had to make sure Harry went into magical custody, and that Dumbledore knew what was going on. Of course, on a more visceral level, there was no way in hell he was going to a Muggle hospital. He knew what they did there- it was all slicing people open and hacking off limbs, sewing them up like rag dolls and using leeches- and not even the magical kind! He struggled to get out of the seat, but the massive woman easily held him place.

"Alright, alright," she said, "No hospitals, at least for now. We'll sort something out when you look a little less ready to keel over." Harry had wandered up behind her, and stood, watching the exchange nervously. "Hey mite," she said, smiling. "There's some shit in the back seat, but there's still room enough for a skinny little chap like you."

"Sickle in a swear jar," Harry said quietly, and ignored her clambering up into Sirius' lap. Sirius wrapped his arms around him, holding him protectively. The woman looked at them a moment, then shook her head and shut the door.

"We've wasted enough time," she said, throwing the car out of park and peeling off of the beach, speeding towards the road. "Your job," she said, pointing to Harry, "Is to duck if you see any traffic boffins, clear?"

"Kay," Harry said, pulling at the loose sleeve of Sirius' still soaking robe, hiding behind it. The rhythmic rocking of the car was lulling, and having finally stopped moving, it was as if the last of his momentum had wound out of him. Though everything in his rationality screamed at him not to do it- screamed that he and Harry were not yet safe, that he had to stay alert to make sure the woman really didn't take them to a hospital- the tides of his consciousness were going out, and he was pulled irresistibly into sleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, the tides were going in as Aurors Proudfoot and Shacklebolt zipped up and down the waves towards the prison in an enchanted dinghy.

"Just like being a firstie again, isn't it?" Gloria Proudfoot said with false cheer as they were once more splashed with spray from a particularly rough patch.

"Oh, sure," her junior partner Kingsley Shacklebolt said, with a roll of his eyes, "Only instead of going to a castle of dreams we're headed to a fortress of nightmares, and instead of being sick with worry over some ridiculous lies our siblings told us about sorting, we've just plain sea sickness."

"You and your delicate stomach," Proudfoot said. "I thought you took a potion before we set off?"

"I did," Shacklebolt answered grimly. "Believe me, this ride is really testing the limits of its effectiveness." The dinghy slowed its wild course as they neared the obsidian monstrosity that was Azkaban. As they pulled up to the roughhewn dock on the shore of the island, a youngish looking ginger man stood waiting for them, his light blue robes and flat, pillbox cap marking him as a LEO. Proudfoot reached in and tossed the charmed dock line out- it wrapped itself around the post, knotting itself neatly.

"Aurors Proudfoot and Shacklebolt?" the LEO asked.

"Ta lovey," Proudfoot said. "Give us a hand, would you?" The LEO reached out and helped her out of the still bobbing boat.

"Nigel Turpin, LEO Second Class," Turpin introduced himself. "I was part of the initial response team that portkeyed in when the wards were broken."

"Pleasure to be working with you," Proudfoot said as Shacklebolt awkwardly clambered out of the boat when it became apparent that Turpin was not going to help him as well.

"There are portkeys?" Shacklebolt asked. Turpin saw the still queasy look on the auror's face and frowned, his eyes apologetic.

"Sorry," the LEO said, "but they're blood keyed for security reasons. The boat ride's shorter than the time it would take to key you into all the wards necessary for portkey travel."

"Don't mind the rookie," Proudfoot said, "Come on, show us what you've found so far.

"Right away ma'am," Turpin said, and turned sharply, leading them down the dock into the barred gates of the prison.

* * *

"The wards broke showing a prisoner had gotten out of their cell at around eight ante meridiem," Turpin said, marching confidently down the twisting halls. "Prisoner reports indicate that Black left through that exit," he said, gesturing to the corridor on their left, "But there are no cells with visibility to tell us how he actually got out of the prison. The locks were still locked when we arrived and showed no signs of manual tampering, and neither did the wards indicate a forced exit." Turpin led them on a quick detour down the narrow hallway. He shook the door for good measure so show how sturdy the iron rods were. "Black may have been a skinny bastard, but no grown man could fit through bars this narrow. Whatever magic he used, it's too dark for my knowledge."

"There are several metamorphmagus in the Black line," Shacklebolt said thoughtfully. "Is it possible Black could've had some latent traits he used to slip through?" Turpin frowned.

"I'd have to double check his file," he said, "But I believe there was never any sign or record of such powers in Black."

"We'll be wanting a copy of that file, and anything else you can pull up on Sirius Black," Proudfoot said. "Now, you've pulled those in the cells adjacent his for questioning and searched his cell?" Turpin nodded as they continued walking to Black's cell.

"Aye, and there's no sign of dark magic in the cell but-" he paused. "Well. It's the damndest thing. And the stories the cell mates are telling- there's no sign they're lying, but considering they can't actually see each other from their cells, and they're all half mad anyways- but there's absolutely no way such a thing could happen, not with the wards on this place-"

"Spit it out man," Proudfoot snapped, growing impatient with the man's ramblings. They arrived at Black's cell. Shacklebolt stepped in and froze.

"Mighty Merlin and all the bloody Knights," he breathed, looking around. Proudfoot stepped in behind him and frowned as she looked about. It looked like a nursery from hell, the walls covered floor to ceiling in childish chalk drawings, generally of two figures- one small, one large, in various poses. Some of the pictures were labeled- in other places, random words were written in an adult's hand, and copied beneath with the shaking, reversed script of a child. One corner was nothing but obscenities written in the child's hand, gradually growing wilder and wilder, devolving into angry scribbles. Shacklebolt stepped forward, tracing the outlines of the egg like people, reading the names: 'Paddy' and 'Evan'.

"He went mad," Proudfoot said flatly. "He went mad with guilt over trying to get the Potter boy murdered and he regressed and believed he was child." Turpin looked over at her, eyes wide at her theory. "Well?" she snapped, "Tell me Black was mad, and that whoever is in charge of the godforsaken place didn't fuck up so badly as to allow for a child to be trapped in a bloody cell with a psychopath!"

"All the prisoners who saw the escape report two figures," Turpin said with a wince. "Mullum, Phelps, and Korba all report hearing a child's voice distinct from Black's, and hearing the two interact. Korba's eighteen years into a life sentence and wasn't much good for anything beyond that but the other two-"

"I want to question them personally," Proudfoot interrupted. Turpin nodded.

"Of course ma'am."

"Gloria," Shacklebolt said, "Have a look at this." He lifted up a dented metal tray, smeared with the bloody words "AUROR HELP".

"Is that the only time he's done that?" Proudfoot asked.

"I'm not sure," Turpin said. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small silver bell, similar to those found on the counters of inns. He twisted it to unlock the lid, and tapped it, ringing it once. A few seconds later, there was a crack as a house elf clad in a toga-wrapped tea towel appeared.

"Youses be needing something of Jeepers?" the house elf, Jeepers, asked.

"Shacklebolt, you talk to the house elf. Turpin, can you take me to the prisoners?" Proudfoot asked.

"Of course ma'am," Turpin said. Turning to Shacklebolt, he added, "They're being held in the third interrogation room in Processing- walk up the hallway the way we came, take a sharp left, take the third left and keep going. My partner's doing paperwork at the desk."

"There're only two of you?" Proudfoot asked as she stepped out of the cell.

"There was a third, but she left to contact the main office and coordinate with the Office of Prison Affairs when it became clear there had been an actual escape," Turpin explained. Looking a little embarrassed he added, "We're a small group, both for security reasons and because… well, normally when a prisoner gets out of their cell, we just have to clean up a body, not run an investigation." Proudfoot shook her head a little.

"I suppose you would, wouldn't you?" she murmured. She gestured ahead of her, "Well, lead the way." The two headed down the hall. Shacklebolt turned to the elf, holding out the bloodied tray.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked. The elf frowned, it's ears perking in anger.

"Jeepers was hoping Prisoner had stopped this!" Jeepers said. "Prisoner is so unsanitary!"

"He's done it before?" Shacklebolt prompted. Jeepers nodded vigorously, ears flopping.

"Yessirs, Prisoner has. For a while Prisoner be scribbling on all his trays, then only breakfasts, then about once a week. Prisoner is so annoying- Jeepers has to use special charms for blood, always slows down cleaning!"

"This has been going on for weeks?"

"Jeepers would say monthses, sir," the elf said, but looked thoughtful, "But Jeepers is not knowing exactly how long. Jeepers is in rotation with Blinky and Jive- each of us is coming to Azkaban twice a day for a month to cook the foods and wash the dishes. We is not staying more than that because of the Dementors. Jeepers only is knowing this is the second rotation that Prisoner has been writing. Youse can be contacting Office of Custodial Serviceses if youse is wanting to speak to Blinky or Jive." That was at least four months, Shacklebolt thought, vaguely horrified.

"Did he always write the same message?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Jeepers is not reading all the messages," the elf said, "But they is mostly the same. Prisoner is writing 'Help' or 'Auror' or 'Boy' or 'Leo' or 'Come' in different orders."

"He specifically wrote boy?" Shacklebolt demanded, the horror solidifying. Jeepers nodded.

"Is youse having any more questions for Jeepers?" the elf asked.

"You always refer to him as Prisoner," Shacklebolt said. "Do you not know who he is?" Jeepers shook his head.

"All the dishes come in in a pile, all the dishes leave in rows. Jeepers is not knowing where they come from or where they go. All Prisoners is same, anyways. All bad, and all mad."

"One last question Jeepers," Shacklebolt said. "Why didn't you or your cohorts tell anyone about the messages?"

"Jeepers is telling his Supervisor!" Jeepers said. "But Supervisor say that Prisoners is always doing things like this, trying to get attention, making life more hard for everyone. If there is real problem, Prisoners can take it up with Minister on inspection- Jeepers shouldn't be bothering with it. It is the Dementors- they is making the Prisoners crazy. All bad, and all mad."

"Thank you Jeepers," Shacklebolt said, "You can go now." Jeepers nodded and snapped his fingers, disappearing with a crack. Shacklebolt set the tray down back where he found it. As he rose, he noticed the drawing a few feet up on the wall above the tray- a tracing of a child's hand. He walked out of the cell, letting the door slam shut behind him.

* * *

The three prisoners sat shackled to magic inhibiting chairs. All had the wild hair and unkempt beards of prisoners, and the crazy eyes of the prison's long term inhabitants. Coriandros Korba, a man in his late fifties, was giggling to himself, head lolling to the side. Phineas Phelps' wrists were spastically jerking up and down as if he desperately wanted to punch the giggling man into silence, betraying a penchant for violence, though his crooked nose and asymmetrical face betrayed an inability to duck. Orm Mullum seemed similarly irritated, though his reactions were more controlled. His hair, not quite shoulder length, suggested he had been there the shortest of the three. Proudfoot and Turpin stood on the observation side of the room, behind a slightly shimmering charm that hid them from the prisoner's sight, showing only the wall behind them.

"Have you taken a copy of what they witnessed for the record?" Proudfoot asked Turpin, who shook his head.

"None of us were skilled in memory charms," he admitted. "Could you?" Proudfoot looked at the prisoners.

"Kingsley's always been a dab hand at memory charms," she said, "And I could do it easily, if they were sane. But given the level of madness we'd be dealing with… it's best to wait for a skilled Legilimens to sort through the layers of delusion and reality."

"LEO Third Class Imogen Warner is trying to coordinate with central office to get one," he said, "But you know of course there aren't exactly an excess of Legilimens in the Department. Last I heard, she was trying to find one from outside the Department to hire." Proudfoot nodded.

"Might as well interview them now," she said, and stepped through the charm into the view of the prisoners. "Alright you flobberworms, my name is Auror Proudfoot. Here are the rules of this interview. Abide by them, and this will go quickly, and the quicker and easier it is, the better it'll be for all of us.

"Number one- no sexual comments. Keep in mind that I am not just a pretty face, but also a pretty face who can recommend your sentences be extended or circumstances worsened, and that the courts will take my recommendations very, very seriously.

"Number two- I will be asking you a lot of the same questions LEO Turpin or his partner asked you earlier. No whinging about it, I need the answers for my own report.

"And finally, number three- tell the bleeding truth. LEO Turpin informs me you've all been given a dose of veritaserum, so this shouldn't be a problem, but any attempts at obfuscation will not make me best pleased. Cooperation could make things a great deal easier for you. Clear?"

Korba giggled, Phelps twitched, and Mullum nodded with feigned disinterest. Joy, Proudfoot thought.

"Alright then," she said, "Was there a boy in Black's cell?"

"Name o' Evan Jameson, Black said," Mullum said. "Boy sounded young, mebbe three 'r four."

"Some little mudblood brat," Phelps added.

"I don't reckon 'e were a mudblood," Mullum said. "They were always whispren. Couldn't rightly 'ear 'em through the charms, but I 'eard the word 'father' more often than you'd e'spect. I reckon the brat were Black's bastard."

"That don't rule out him being a mudblood," Phelps retorted, "But it could explain how the boy apparated in, family ties and child magic being so powerful."

"The boy apparated in?"

"We all 'eard the crack," Mullum said, "And Black said 'e accidentally apparated. No reason t' doubt that."

"Said it a lot, he did," Phelps said. "Hollering about it all the time those first few days, trying to get the Dementors to fetch someone for the boy." He sneered. "Called you lot a bunch of 'dozy, useless bastards'. Not a bad estimation, eh?" Proudfoot ignored the jab, still thinking about Mullum's suggestion. There had been no mention of a child, wife, or even girlfriend in the list of known associates in his file, though she supposed it would've taken only one night and a failed contraceptive charm for little Evan to be conceived.

"Hollered near as much as the boy did," Mullum grumbled.

"The boy screamed a lot?" Proudfoot asked, concern for the boys well-being springing up fresh.

"All the damn time," Phelps kvetched. "If he weren't whinging about being trapped he were whinging he were bored, if he weren't bored he was shrieking about some game or another, if it weren't a game it were fukken Muggle nursery rhymes, over and fukken over again!" Her concern was assuaged somewhat, though not nearly enough, though Mullum's suspicion the two were father and son seemed stronger. Black and Evan had gotten along like a house on fire, apparently, and she couldn't imagine the Dark Lord's right-hand man getting along with just any child.

"Did any of you get a look at the boy?" she asked. Phelps shook his head and Korba had begun rocking, but Mullum nodded again.

"When the boy ran out o' their cell," he said, "'E collapsed in front o' mine. I gotta look at 'im- 'e's scrawny, white, and 'as dark hair." Proudfoot made a mental note to ask the Legilimens to try and get a better memory of what the boy looked like.

"Any idea why the boy ran from the cell?" she asked. Mullum shook his head.

"I were asleep when the boy busted out," he said. "Only woke up when the Dementors got 'im and 'e started screaming. Black got out a bit after the screaming started and tried t' cover 'im, but the Dementors just went after 'im instead. That many o' the shady bastards in one spot made things go a bit dark, but then the boy scramed and there were a light, and it were like all m' birthdays came at once. Black came too, grabbed the brat and ran."

"And I'm gonna kill him!" Phelps screamed suddenly, jerking in his seats. "Didn't I tell him!? Didn't I tell that Muggle-loving blood traitor if he busted out without me I'd rip his bloody balls off!?"

"Black ain't a Muggle-lover, 'e were You-Know-Oos number one, weren't he?"

"I never saw him at the meetings," Phelps countered, "Probably some no good Johnny-Come-Lately trying to curry favor when it were clear we were winning. And even if he were, he has mudblood for a son- clearly he's a Muggle-lover."

"Auror Proudfoot!" Turpin interrupted, bursting out from behind the charm. Proudfoot bit back her annoyance at having an interview interrupted when it became clear from the urgent look on his face he had important information.

"Just a moment, gents," she said to the bickering prisoners, and stepped over to the observation side of the room. She saw Kingsley was there, as well as Turpin's partner, LEO First Class Cadman Fey.

"Warner just got word from the Office of Muggle Liasons," Fey said. "They think the Muggles have found Sirius Black."

* * *

Sirius came to when he felt strong hands pulling at his robe. He batted them away.

"Stop," he mumbled, blinking his eyes. He saw he was lying on a couch, the woman from before standing above him. "What are you doing?"

"Your clothes," she said. "They're soaking wet, and filthy. You need to get out of them." He looked over and saw a change of clothes and a towel on the coffee table.

"I can do it," he said, sitting up, feeling the blood rush to his head. He stood up shakily and pulled the robe over his head.

"Oh wow, awesome tat, mate," she said, tapping the one he had on his bicep- a stag charging forward with a rat balancing on its head, a wolf and a dog running besides it. She frowned as she traced the banner waving beneath it that read, "MORDE ME, CANNES." "There's something weird about that on though," she said, "It's so blurry I can't read it at all." That's right, he remembered, the motion charm had come with a special charm that would keep Muggles from being able to focus on it- a common charm placed on a lot of things wizards didn't want Muggles to notice.

"Could you get me a glass of water, please?" he rasped, feigning embarrasment. She rolled her eyes a little.

"Sure," she said, and left for the adjacent kitchen. He quickly slid the loose fitting prison trousers off and dried off, pulling on the similarly loose fitting pair of black pants the woman had left for him, pulling the drawstring as tight as he could. He pulled on a short hooded jacket made from the same sort of material as the pants, though it was grey, zipping it up just as the woman re-entered the room. "I hope you don't mind wearing my old sweats. I've a washer for your clothes in the kitchen," she said, gesturing as Sirius picked up the prison clothes, "Though honestly, we might be better off just tossing them. How'd they get this way?" Sirius shrugged, following her to the kitchen.

"Time," he said blandly, dumping them into the metal box she gestured to- the 'washer' he supposed. She passed him a glass of water and a small pink scrunchie.

"It's my girlfriend's. For your hair," she said, when Sirius had stopped drinking long enough to notice the scrunchie. He set the glass aside and pulled his hair up into a messy bun, feeling embarrassed as he couldn't help but be reminded of McGonagall's trademark hairstyle. "You were really thirsty, huh?" she said as he shakily went over and refilled the glass.

"You would be too if you'd had to swim half a dozen miles," he said.

"Evan said something like that," she said, "Though he couldn't really explain why you were swimming." Sirius looked over and noticed Harry sitting at the other end of the kitchen table, eating what looked to be a cheese sandwich, watching them with large eyes.

"He introduced himself?" Sirius asked. She nodded.

"And your Patrick, right?" she said, then corrected herself when she noticed his confused look, "Or maybe just Paddy. That's what Evan kept calling you. I'm Afshan Chaundry myself," she said, extending her hand.

"Patrick Jameson," Sirius responded, shaking her hand, "Though you're right, everyone calls me Paddy. Evan and I had a boating accident a couple miles out. I don't suppose you have a map?"

"Right now, you're a bit outside Scarborough," Afshan said. "I rented a cottage for the summer to work on some pieces in privacy- I'm an artist."

"I see," Sirius said, filing the information away, "But I'd really like to know how far off course we got, exactly, and if you had a map- even just a general roadmap…"

"I'll see what I can find," Afshan said, exiting the kitchen, "I think I have one in the studio." Sirius sat down in the seat next to Harry, who was drowning in what looked to be the smallest t-shirt Afshan owned, the sleeves nearly reaching his wrists, the collar sliding off one shoulder. He waited to talk until he heard her going up the stairs.

"You introduced yourself as Evan?" he asked quietly. Harry nodded, and passed Sirius the other half of his sandwich, which Sirius ate eagerly.

"You said it wouldn't be fantastic if people knew who I was," he said. Sirius nearly corrected him- he had only meant the other prisoners when he had said that, but realized it was a good policy for now, and nodded.

"Good thinking," he said, and ruffled the boy's hair. Harry smiled, and Sirius' heart nearly stopped- that little show of happiness and he was suddenly struck by the fact that they were no longer in fucking Azkaban, that they could be happy, really, properly happy.

"I also said you were my daddy, cause that was easier to 'splain why we was together than if you were my godfather," Harry said. Sirius nodded.

"That's fine for now," he said, "Just remember- magic, and especially Padfoot, are secrets."

"Right," Harry said. They quickly shut up when they heard her footsteps on the stairs, and Afshan entered, handing Sirius a road atlas. He flipped over to the section showing North Yorkshire. She reached over and flipped it a few more pages to show a close up of Scarborough and the surrounding areas.

"We're about here," she said, pointing to a spot about two miles outside Scarborough proper, about five miles from the coast.

"Thanks," he said. It wasn't as good as he could've hoped, but it wasn't bad either. Azkaban had anti-apparition wards extending in a twelve mile radius from it, but because it was unplottable he wasn't exactly sure how far the currents had pushed him before he reached shore. Being five miles in meant he had a good chance of being outside the reach of the wards, but he couldn't be sure. He heard the rumble of a car pulling up to the cottage. He looked out the kitchen window and saw a muggle police car parking, two officers getting out.

"You called the police!?" he demanded.

"While you were sleeping," Afshan admitted. "Don't freak out. They can help you out of whatever trouble you two are in- plus you needed to report your 'boat crash' anyways-"

"Damn it!" Sirius swore, and raced over, grabbing Harry. If he wound up getting into police custody at this point, he'd get the kiss for escaping and probably be charged with kidnapping to boot. As he ran out of the kitchen, he saw a purse sitting on the counter, which he snatched. Racing across the small living room, he saw the half ajar door of the WC and raced in, practically slamming the thin door behind him, fumbling with the lock. Awkwardly, while still holding Harry, he rifled through the purse, finding a wallet and pulling out the colorful strips of paper the muggles used for money. Shoving them into the pouch like pocket of his jacket, he dropped the purse and wallet and clutched Harry tighter, and prayed they were outside the wards.

* * *

"He's locked himself and his son in the loo," Afshan said, opening the door to let the two PCs in, "And he tried to steal my wallet. But there's no window or any other way out, so he's still there." Suddenly, there was an ear ringing crack from inside. "Christ, what did he break!?" Afshan asked worriedly.

"We can give you a report for the landlord so you don't have to pay damages," one of the PCs said. He gestured towards the door. "Do you mind if I force it open?"

"Go right ahead," Afshan sighed, "God, what a bloody day it's been." The PC kicked in the bathroom door, only to find it empty. The three stared in shock.

"Are you sure they ran in there?" the other PC asked dumbly.

"I'm sure!" Afshan said. "How the hell did he do that!?"

"What exactly did he look like, again?" the PC asked.

"Like an absolute madman," Afshan said, "About my height, skinny as a skeleton, with long hair that was almost in locks and a beard. I still have his clothes, actually," she said, and went into the kitchen, pulling the robes and Evan's clothes out of the washer, which she hadn't yet turned on.

"The boy he was with- he was a bigger lad?" one PC asked, eyeing the over sized shirt and shorts. Afshan shook her head.

"Just as thin as the man- his name was Patrick Jameson, and the boy, Evan, said he was his father. Jameson said they'd had a boat crash but… I don't know. Even if that were true, they were in some sort of trouble beyond that. I know there are a couple prisons and asylums not too far from here, but none where swimming would be a logical means of escape. And given the way he was dressed- I don't know, maybe they busted out of some cult compound? Or- I don't know- some sort of Danish sex dungeon?"

"I can assure you," a female voice said drily from the doorway, "'Jameson' didn't swim here from Denmark. Though 'sex dungeon' is closer to the truth then you might expect." Afshan and the two PCs whirled to face the two new intruders- a short black woman in her late forties, with corkscrew curls that crowned her head like a lion's mane, and tall black man in his early thirties, wearing a kufi. They both seemed to be wearing uniforms of some sort, but Afshan couldn't quite put her finger on what kind, or why they seemed so odd to her. "Hope you don't mind our dramatic entry- the door was unlocked," the woman said, and Afshan had been sure she had locked the door after letting the two PCs in. The woman and man both withdrew wallets from their pockets and showed them their badges.

"Detectives Proudfoot and Shacklebolt," the man said, "Scotland Yard." Sure enough, that was what their badges said, though one of the PCs was squinting at them as if they were hard to make out.

"What brings you this far north?" he asked.

"We're in pursuit of the man you know as Patrick Jameson," the woman explained. "My partner, Detective Shacklebolt, would be glad to explain the investigation to you outside. I'd just like a few words with Ms…"

"Chaudry," Afshan provided. The two PCs nodded and followed Detective Shacklebolt outside.

"Now, Ms. Chaundry," the woman said, "If you wouldn't mind telling me how 'Mr. Jameson' came to be in your home?" Afshan told the woman the story, when just as she reached the end Detective Shacklebolt came back in. She heard the police car driving away.

"How'd it go?" Proudfoot asked.

"They investigated a minor break-in and found no evidence, so it'll be chalked up to hooliganism by some local teens." Afshan frowned.

"When did that hap-" but found herself frozen, unable to talk or move. Her eyes flicked down and she saw a long stick in Detective Proudfoot's hand.

"Good work Kingsley," she said, "You always were a dab hand at memory charms."

"I try," he said, "Though I can't believe we just barely missed Black! We were so damn close." He pulled some plastic evidence bags out of his pocket, folding the clothes and placing them individually into them and then tucking them into his pockets, how did he fit them into his pockets, they couldn't possibly be that big, it was as if they were bottomless and holy Christ was that a robe he was wearing-

"Don't worry, Ms. Chaundry," Detective Proudfoot said, "I'm just going to draw out a copy of your memories for our investigation. It won't hurt a bit. In fact," she said, tapping the stick to Afshan's temple, "You won't remember it at all."

* * *

Appearing by the wall entrance to Diagon Alley, behind the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius quickly ducked over to the side, out of the immediate view of anyone in the pub. Flipping the hood of the jacket up to obscure his face and hide his hair, he set Harry down and undid the zip, lifting the boy up and holding him to his bare chest.

"Hold on," he told the boy, awkwardly doing up the zip on the too large jacket too cover both Harry's queer manner of dress as well as his lack of shoes. There was nothing to be done about Sirius' own lack of shoes- he'd just have to walk quickly and hope no one looked down. "Pretend to be asleep," he ordered. Harry just nodded and tucked his head into the crook of Sirius' neck. Holding him so close, he could feel the rapid rhythm of Harry's heart- the boy was apparently too terrified by their encounter with the police to argue. Walking quickly, he headed into the Leaky Cauldron.

"Had an exciting day in Muggle London, I take it?" Tom said from the bar as they walked past. Sirius forced himself not to jump at the words.

"Got a bit hectic as you can see," he said cheerfully, never stopping his journey to the public Floos, trying to keep his head down without being obvious he was hiding. However, as he got near, a new problem struck him- where exactly were they going to go? Review his contacts in his mind, the only person he could think of that he could really trust was Moony, though Merlin only knew where he was, as often as he moved- No, he thought, not only Merlin. He reached into a small pot on top of the hearth and through a pinch of powder into the flames and stepped in. "Gunnr's Hearth!" he said with confidence, and flash of smoke and flame, he and Harry Flooed away.

* * *

A/N: Well that was a long one! Thanks for bearing with me. Hopefully the Auror parts were interesting and not too repetitive- there was some information that really needed to be established, and I tried to offer a new perspective on the bits that had to be rehashed. Believe it or not, I actually spent most of the week just planning this chapter, working out the kinks, and then wrote it in two massive sessions. The 'ante meridiem' thing was meant to serve like military time without actually using military time, which felt too "Muggleish". I checked as best I could, and I believe Morde is the correct imperative form, but if you know Latin, feel free to correct me. Also, if I horribly mangled any of the Britishisms, I welcome any Britpicking. I tried to be accurate, but I grew up not speaking UK English, and in fact speaking with a fairly idiosyncratic dialect, so my concept of what "sounds right" doesn't always match everyone else's. Thank you to everyone who read, and extra thank yous to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited! Things for this section will really start to pick up next chapter, which should be out by next week!


	5. Dog Days, Part 2

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or any related works

* * *

Sparks flew around them like a torrent of fireflies as Sirius and Harry materialized in the fire pit. Stepping out of the embers before the enchantment wore off the flames, he surveyed their surroundings. The last time he'd come to Gunnr's Hearth, Lina and her pack had been in North Wales, but the rolling hills and far off rugged mountains weren't distinctive enough for him to say whether or not they had moved. The camp seemed oddly deserted- three caravans formed a semi-circle around the fire pit, with two battered Muggle vehicles parked haphazardly nearby, a grey mare tethered to the towball of one. There was no sound but the whipping of the wind and the crackle of the Wizarding Wireless from the largest caravan. Suddenly, the door to the caravan swung open, revealing a skinny boy of ten or eleven, dressed in boxer shorts and red high-top trainers, with a long, freshly stitched red gash running up his abdomen from hip to nipple.

"Afternoon," Sirius said, awkwardly waving while still holding Harry. "Is Lina about?"

"Ma!" the boy shouted, followed by the harsh pidgin favored by members, or in this case former members, of the Continental packs. A moment later, Lina appeared, rifle in hand.

"Who are you and why're you here?" she asked gruffly, stepping down from the doorway to stand on the ground across from him. Sirius pulled down his hood.

"I'm Sirius Black," he said. "Do you remember me? Lupin and I helped-"

"I know who you are, Black," she said, raising the rifle. "The only reason I haven't shot yet is because you have that little boy. You got five seconds to state your business or get out. You know we don't want nothing to do with Death Eaters."

"I just need to know where Remus Lupin is," he said, resisting the urge to hold Harry tighter, to avoid looking like he was using him as a shield. "I don't mean him harm. And I am not a Death Eater. I'd take a vow if I had a wand, but-" Lina snorted, cutting him off.

"Don't need a vow to prove the truth," she said, "Set the boy down. Conan!" The boy still standing in the doorway perked up, and left as she barked a set of orders to him. Sirius unzipped the hoodie and set Harry on the ground, who immediately hid behind his legs.

"It's alright Harry," he said, "Lina's just being careful. We'll be alright." Conan hopped out of the caravan, an egg in one hand, and a jar of water with a paring knife in it in the other. Looking to his mother, he walked up and passed the items to Sirius when she nodded to him, quickly scurrying behind her after the hand off was done.

"Cut your palm, hold the egg, and say your piece," Lina said, the rifle aimed squarely at his heart now that Harry no longer blocked her shot. He set the jar down and followed her instructions.

"I am not, and have never been, a Death Eater," he said simply.

"Go on," she said, gesturing with the gun.

"Neither have I ever been loyal to Lord Voldemort. Or any other dark wizard. I've never cast an Unforgivable. I don't intend to cause any harm to Lupin. I don't know what you want me to say," he listed off with exasperation as she continually signaled for more information. She rolled her eyes at him.

"That'll do," she said. "Crack the egg into the jar." He picked up the jar, Conan running forward to snatch the paring knife from him. Sirius rolled the egg from his blood slick palm to his fingertips. It's vividly crimson shell looked like a macabre Ostara egg. He cracked it against the rim of the glass, the yellow yolk floating up to the top, the whites trailing like a veil. "Bring it here," she said. He crossed to her, Harry clinging to his leg with every step, until the rifle pressed against his chest. He held up the jar in her face and she scrutinized the signs. She lowered the rifle.

"Are you even allowed to own that thing?" he asked.

"I've got a certificate," she said, tossing the jar's contents out onto the ground. "You just need a way to contact Remus?" He nodded, then paused.

"Well, if you have a pair of trousers or something that would fit the boy, I could pay you for them," he said, not quite sure he wanted to tell the already mistrustful Lina Harry's true name. Harry stepped out from behind Sirius.

"How come wizards always dress so stupid?" Conan asked in thickly accented English. Lina rolled her eyes.

"Why do you always ask stupid questions?" she said. "Take the boy and see if any of Kenley's clothes will fit him." Conan walked over and grabbed Harry's hand, tugging him towards the left most caravan. Harry resisted, grabbing Sirius' leg and keening. Sirius tried to push the boy away.

"Evan, go on. Conan's being nice and sharing clothes with you," he said. Harry shook his head furiously.

"I want you to come with me!" he insisted.

"I have to talk some things over with Lina. I'll be right here, so just go," he said, pushing the boy harder.

"No! No! No!" Harry screamed. "We keep having to- having to run away, and there's the twisty sick thing and there was the fire, and what if something happens and you havta run and you leave me! And, and," he broke off into sobs, burying his face into Sirius' leg, wrenching his hand from Conan's grasp as the stress of the day caught up with him.

"Don't cry!" Sirius ordered. He wrenched Harry's hands off of his legs, holding them away tightly, blood oozing from Sirius' hand down Harry's arm. He knelt down to eye level with the boy. "Listen- I promise you. I will never, ever run without you. I promise. Do you understand?"

"Cross your heart," Harry sniveled. Sirius did so, forming a bloody x on his bare chest.

"Now are you going to be a big boy and go with Conan?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded, still looking miserable, and offered his hand back to Conan. The older boy looked at the bloody palm with disgust and walked around Harry, grabbing his other hand, leading him away.

"Is he yours?" Lina asked, watching them go.

"For the moment," Sirius said. "Where's your boy's father, anyways?"

"Romano died last month," Lina said bluntly.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said. He remembered Romano from the war- he'd been a good man. Lina shrugged, with a hard cast to her face that suggested a steadfast refusal to mourn.

"I've got more important things to worry about than the dead," she said. "Remus moves too much to leave an address with me, but he's had a steady job the past six months. I can give you that."

"I'd appreciate it," Sirius said, clenching his fist to stem the bleeding.

"Capitolina!" a heavily pregnant teen called, running from the caravan. "The session ended!"

"Have they voted?" Lina asked. The teen shook her head.

"Lord Doge called for another inquiry next week," she said. Lina exhaled.

"We have more time then," she said.

"What's going on?" Sirius asked.

"The Wizengamot is debating a change to the status of werewolves," Lina explained. "Right now, we're Beings. Just being changed to Beasts wouldn't be too bad, but they want to reintroduce a Code of Conduct- to criminalize our existence. If the movement passes, we're leaving."

"That's why the camp's so empty right now," Sirius observed. The teen nodded.

"Velvel, Ran and her kids, and my Raul are flooing across the Continent right now, talking to the other Packs to make sure there won't be no trouble if we move into their territory," she said.

"I'll go get you Lupin's information," Lina said, heading back to the camper. Sirius turned when he heard Conan hopping out of the smaller barrel caravan, helping Harry out after him. The little boy ran over to Sirius as soon as his feet hit ground, grabbing onto his pant leg.

"I'm still here boyo," Sirius said. "I promised I wouldn't leave, didn't I?"

"You promised," Harry repeated, but didn't let go. He was dressed in a pair of overalls about a size to large, the legs cuffed several times to keep from dragging, a pair of beat up trainers on his feet.

"They have a hole on bottom," Conan said in forced sounding English, "But I put, um, cardboard over it. There are newspapers in the toes, to make them fit." He carried a pair of galoshes in one hand, which he held out to Sirius. "These were Da's. They should fit you."

"Oh, I'm not sure- I mean, I don't know if I can-"

"Take them," Lina said, approaching. "We don't need them anymore. You're paying me anyways, and you can't just keep going around without shoes." Sirius nodded awkwardly and took the dead man's shoes, setting them on the ground and stepping into them. Lina set a bowl down on a camp chair by the fire pit, and held out an index card to him.

"Here's the address Remus left with me last I saw him," she said. "He promised to tell me if it changed. And these," she said, passing him a pair of scissors, "Are for your hair. There's a razor in the bowl. Clean up before you go see him."

"Thanks," he said, putting the card into his pocket, and zipped his jacket up again. He took out one of the Muggle bills from his pocket and passed it to her.

"How much is that in galleons?" he asked. She eyed the bill critically, then slipped it into the pocket of her skirt.

"Enough," she said simply. Sirius placed some more kindling on the smoldering embers of the camp fire, and using the old candle lighting method blew the flames into being. He let his hair down and started hacking at it, lopping it off quite close to the scalp to get all of the tangles. He threw the clumps of hair into the fire as he went in order to keep anyone from using them in spells or potions. He did the same with his beard, trimming it down to a shaveable length.

"C'mere," he said to Harry, "You need a haircut too."

"No I don't," Harry said, dragging his feet as he walked towards Sirius.

"Do we need to have a talk about piles of filth again?" Sirius asked.

"But I like having long hair!" Harry pouted.

"You can grow your hair as long as you want," Sirius said, turning the boy around and kneeling, making his first cuts to the matted mess, "Just as soon as I get rid of these tangles." He quickly finished the back of his head, and spun Harry around again to get his bangs, but as he lifted the fringe to cut, he realized doing so would expose the famous scar. "Here, compromise," he said, setting the scissors aside, "You can keep your fringe. Sound good?"

"I bet I look stupid," Harry grumbled, running his fingers over the remains of his hair.

"Nonsense," Sirius said, though in truth Harry was completely right. "Your devilish good looks can pull off even the most avant-garde styles."

"Stop using big words to try and confuse me, I know you're lying" Harry said.

"Look who's a clever lad," Sirius said, using the bar of soap floating in the bowl to lather his face, "How about you go enjoy your freedom and play for a little bit while I shave?" Harry looked at him suspiciously, but wandered off and was soon chasing a frog across the field and up a nearby hill. Sirius awkwardly shaved, eventually resorting to using the rearview mirror of one of the caravans after nicking himself a few too many times from blind shaving, though that didn't help too much. He just wasn't used to using a Muggle razor. Finally clean shaven, he dumped out the bowl and found Lina, passing it to her. "How do I look?" he asked.

"Like a homeless smack addict," she said bluntly, "But you look less like to ax murder someone for their pocket change, and that's the best you can hope for right now."

"I really can't thank you enough," he said, but she waved him off.

"I owe you," she said uncomfortably, unable to help the softening of her expression, "For what you did for Romano and I and the others, during the war. You fought Greyback when we broke with his pack, helped us ward our vehicles- it kept us safe for a long time."

"You aren't safe now?" he asked, remembering the events she spoke of. It had been the last mission he and Moony had done together, before paranoia had driven them apart.

"Wards can't protect us from laws," she said with a shrug.

"Any recommendations for apparition points in London convenient for Remus' work?" he asked.

"I can't apparate so I can't say, but the floo adjourning King's Cross was near enough last time I went to see him," she said.

"Before I go, I've always wondered- was your name originally Lina and you changed it to Capitolina to fit, or was fate just as bitchy with you as it was with Remus?" Sirius asked, hoping to end on a jovial note.

"Fenrir kidnapped me when I was four and changed my name," she said, the hard look she'd had returning with a vengeance. "I don't remember what my name was originally. Not even sure where I'm from."

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Don't mention it," she interrupted, "Go on, you've wasted enough time here- Lupin's shift starts soon. Try not to cause him any trouble- his life's hard enough." Sirius nodded solemnly.

"Evan!" he called, and Harry turned and ran down the hill towards him, arm's pinwheeling like mad. He couldn't help but be a little disturbed at how quickly Harry responded to the false name, thinking of Lina, and was grateful Harry would soon be going by his proper name again. He scooped the boy up and settled him on his hip.

"Black," Lina said he prepared to apparate, "Now I know you're not a traitor, I can say that you're a good man. But if any Aurors come asking, I'm not going to jail for you. I have a family."

"I understand," he said, "I wouldn't want you to lie for me."

"I mean it," she said, "You're a good man. I'm sorry."

"Don't mention it," he said with a smile and, with a crack that echoed off the hills for miles, disappeared.

* * *

"Got it," Shacklebolt said, leaning back from the Pensieve, teasing out a small wisp of thought with the tip of his wand. He placed it onto the parchment, primed with scrying gel, watching it ripple and change colors as the thought spread to the edge of the paper. It finally resolved itself into a headshot of the boy, looking shyly up through his bangs, squirming a little.

"That's the best look of him you could find?" Proudfoot asked.

"I'm afraid Ms. Chaundry was a bit more concerned with the crazy man on her couch than the toddler hiding behind her chairs," he said. "He runs out of view of the memory several times- this is the best I could do."

"I'm not criticizing," Proudfoot said, using her wand to float the parchment over to the bulletin board so as not to smudge the still drying gel, "I was just asking. We can't see a lot of distinctive characteristics is all." She tacked the parchment up next to a similar headshot of Black.

"They don't look very much alike, do they?" Shacklebolt said, eyeing the pictures critically.

"They don't look unalike," Proudfoot said, shrugging, "Dark hair, light eyes- plus the kid is still in that doughy faced phase where all babies look the same."

"He's not exactly doughy faced," Shacklebolt said- one of the most noticeable features of the boy's face was his sunken cheeks, the way every joint in his body jutted out from his thin skin. The prisoners' diet was barely sufficient for adults- the only thing that had kept the boy from starving to death were the nutritional potions lacing the soup.

"I heard back from the Head of Prison Affairs," Proudfoot said, still quietly furious that the legal system she had such faith in had failed so spectacularly. "They're drawing up a schedule to have walk-through inspections once a month, rather than once a year."

"The Minister had to delay his Midsummer inspection to the Equinox, after that emergency session of the Wizengamot was called to deal with the aftermath of that werewolf attack in Leicester," Shacklebolt said, "That would've been just three weeks away. Could that be what caused Black to run?"

"I doubt it," Proudfoot said, "It's not like they have calendars or something. If he had broken out closer to midsummer, maybe, but as it stands, we'll just have to ask him when we catch him" Shacklebolt flipped through the file, thick with transcripts from the trials and interrogations of other Death Eaters. Black had been accused of every conceivable crime, though it seemed that none of them had been witnessed firsthand, since there were no cross-referenced memories.

"Gloria, do you have any theories on where he'd run to? He's going to need a place to lie low, and it looks like every follower of You-Know-Who who passed through here sold him out- and of course, no Order members would help him after his betrayal," Shacklebolt asked, still flipping through the accusations and relevant testimony.

"The Order?"

"Of the Phoenix."

"Oh, right," she said with a hint of a sneer, "Dumbledore's little gang of thugs."

"There was never any proof Dumbledore was involved," Shacklebolt said, deciding now would not be a good time to tell his partner that his own entrance into the Auror training program had been postponed for such thuggery, "And I believe the preferred term is 'vigilante organization.'"

"Extra-legal assaults are extra-legal assaults," Proudfoot declared airily, "Though to answer your question, I'm afraid I'm as stumped as you are. The LEOs have set up a stake out on his home, but they don't expect to turn anything up- after all, the hatred between his family and him is well known. You'd have a better idea than I would- didn't you go to school with him?"

"I was four years older, and a Ravenclaw," Shacklebolt said, shrugging. "I graduated just as he and his little gang were gaining notoriety for their prank war with the Slytherins." He had also known him during their time in the Order, though only indirectly. Black had associated almost exclusively with his gang from school, though by the end he'd been close with the Longbottoms too. Close enough to betray them, he thought, wrinkling the pages when his fingers involuntarily spasmed in anger. He finally reached the end of the testimony, reaching Black's sentencing sheet. Conspiracy to Commit Murder in the case of the Potters, Murder of a Wizard regarding Peter Pettigrew, twelve counts of Voluntary Muggleslaughter, and a major breach of the Statute of Secrecy- the only reason Black had escaped the Kiss was the pull of the Black family, unwilling to let one of its own be killed in such a shameful way, regardless of the bad blood between them. He was a little surprised how few pages there were left, but when he flipped back, he didn't find a trial transcript- only a page of previous offenses, breaks of the Statute of Secrecy that seemed to revolve around a charmed motorcycle, and then a sealed juvenile record which, until unsealed, was little more than three and a half pages of gibberish.

"You're making that face," Proudfoot said, looking up from the timeline she was constructing. "Did you find something?"

"No, just the opposite," he said, flipping through the last few pages again. "Where's the transcript of Black's trial? Ninety percent of this thing is excerpts from other hearings, inquests, and trials, but we don't even have a cross reference to Black's own?"

"Oh, he was tried in absentia," Proudfoot answered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tried. In absentia. As in he wasn't present?" she said, "There was such a high volume of arrests to process, the high risk cases were suspended until the lower risk cases were done. Of course, by the time we had the time to dedicate to such a case as Black's, the testimony had made clear he was a transport risk. Besides, he was found at the crime scene, Prior Incantato revealed a blasting hex on his wand, and he confessed. Ipso facto, he was guilty. Oh don't look like that!" she said at Shacklebolt's rather shocked face. He had known things had been harried in the Department in the wake of Voldemort, but he hadn't known the entire legal system had been turned on its head. "He could've filed a petition of habeas corpus at the next yearly inspection, and he didn't, because doing so would enter into evidence everything he'd done and any of his co-conspirators whom he was protecting."

"We have a record of the confession?"

"Of course."

"Accio Memory Vial 81-000241-Alpha," Shacklebolt said, reading off the call number listed on the sentencing sheet. At Proudfoot's questioning look, he shrugged as said, "I just want to see for myself." The vial flew around the corner and whizzed over to him, landing on the desk with a clatter. He removed the silver bowl of the Pensieve and emptied the Muggle woman's memories into their vial. Carefully, he poured the swirling silver liquid into the bowl, watching them plume like clouds of milk in hot coffee. He leaned over the dish and fell deep into thought.

* * *

There was a sharp crack as Sirius and Harry appeared in the Apparition Point just outside of King's Cross. Shaped like a bus shelter, it was charmed with a Notice-Me-Not and a strong Silencing spell so that Wizards could apparate to the station without exposing a couple hundred Muggles to magic.

"I'm gonna be sick," Harry said.

"Not on my shoulder, you're not," Sirius said, half dropping the boy in his haste to set him down. Grabbing his hand, he led Harry out of the Apparition Point, flipping his hood up. "Keep your head down and walk fast," Sirius said, leading them into the crowd pushing down the broad sidewalk along Euston towards St. Pancras. Muggle London had always freaked him out a bit, even before being put in solitary confinement for the better part of four years. He understood on an intellectual level that there were more than fifty-five million Muggles in the United Kingdom, but they might as well have been nargles for as much as he interacted with them on a daily basis.

"But I can't walk fast," Harry said, "I'll be sick!"

"Walking will settle your stomach," Sirius told him, "Now hurry up, the light's about to go!" They ran quickly across the intersection, turning onto Judd. Once more on the sidewalk, Sirius slowed their pace somewhat.

"Are you lying to me?" Harry asked. "About walking settling my stomach."

"I don't know, have you thrown up yet?"

"So you aren't lying?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

"That's a very cynical attitude to have," Sirius told him, pulling out the scrap of paper Lina had given him, looking back and forth across the street, fastidiously reading the signs. Finally, they reached their destination.

"Hi there, welcome to Café Express-o, can I help you?" the girl behind the counter asked, sounding rather bored as they walked in. The shop was small and narrow, clearly geared for those just popping in for a hit of caffeine before heading elsewhere. They must have caught them at an awkward hour of the afternoon- the shop was empty except for the girl.

"Is Remus in?" Sirius asked.

"Who?"

"Remus Lupin? Brown haired bloke, a bit taller than me, would've worked here recently?" Sirius tried, gesturing vaguely. The girl frowned.

"Um… Oh! Lupin! Do you mean John Lupin?"

"John's his middle name," Sirius agreed, nodding.

"He should be in in about ten minutes or so. What do you need to see him for?"

"We're old friends, just trying to get back in touch," Sirius said vaguely.

"Well, would you like something while you wait?" she asked.

"Uh sure. I'll have whatever's the sweetest coffee you can make, and a hot chocolate for the lad," Sirius said.

"Sure thing," she said, than narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not going to get him mixed up in something shady, are you?" she asked, "Cause John's a sweet guy, and if you are you should just get out, now."

"Of course not!" he said in mock offense. "Come now, how could I be shady with eyes like these?" He batted his lashes at her dramatically, in a way that had had the girls falling over themselves with giggles in seventh year.. She pursed her lips skeptically.

"A lot more easily than you seem to think," she said, pouring out a measure of milk and sticking it into the steamer. Sirius couldn't help but be fascinated by the Muggle contraptions. "His name's really Remus?" she asked, sounding bemused. Sirius grinned back and nodded. He led Harry over to one of the small tables crowded along the edge of the narrow shop, pulling up a slightly rickety chair. There was a discarded newspaper sticking out the top of the rubbish bin beside him, which he fished out.

"Oh, hey, Happy Birthday Harry," he said to Harry when he noticed the date, September sixth, on the top of the paper.

"Today's my birthday?" Harry said in surprise.

"No, a couple months ago," Sirius said. "So Happy Belated Birthday, I guess. You're five now."

"Wow," Harry said, counting it out on his fingers, then startling with surprise. "That's one whole hand!" he exclaimed, waving his hand out. "Look! I'm a one hand old!"

"You certainly are," Sirius said.

"That's five fingers, you know," Harry said.

"Say, Harry," Sirius said, "If you're one hand old, how many feet are you?"

"Two," Harry said, "Don't be silly."

"He's just teasing you Harry," the barrista said, "Because how tall you are is measured in feet."

"I thought it was measured in cennimeters?" Harry asked, confused.

"Cenni-what's?" Sirius repeated, equally confused.

"Centimeters," the barrista said. "I know, everything went metric when I was in Primary too- I still get some of the conversions muddled." Sirius nodded, pretending he knew what she was talking about. "Anyways," she said, "A hot chocolate for the birthday lad, and a diabetic coffee for the birthday dad!" Sirius felt himself flinch at 'dad', painfully reminded of James. She set two paper cups on the counter. "That'll be two pound fifty." He fumbled with the wad of bills, handing her a fiver, sticking the change back in his pocket.

"Here you go," he said, setting the hot chocolate in front of Harry. Harry eyed it skeptically.

"I've never had hot chocolate before," he said.

"You'll love it," Sirius said, reveling in the syrupy sweetness of his own drink, "It's like chocolate, but hot."

"I've never had chocolate before, either," Harry said. Was chocolate not a common thing for Muggles? Sirius wondered, or was this just another case of Harry's relatives being terrible? Harry tried a sip of the steaming drink, only to spit it back into the cup.

"Don't be gross," Sirius chided.

"It's too sweet!" Harry exclaimed.

"Just take small sips," Sirius said, demonstrating, "You've just gotten used to bland foods so it tastes weird."

"Would it taste better if I putted in salt?" Harry asked, eyeing the cup thoughtfully.

"Do not add salt to your hot chocolate."

"But the salty oatmeal tasted good!"

"That was because you were-" starving, he was about to say, but caught himself just in time, remembering the Muggle girl, "-used to eating it in small bites," he finished instead, "Remember? You didn't like it at all when you first tried it." Harry tried another sip of his drink, wrinkling his face a little as he swallowed.

"Are you sure I can't put-"

"Do not add salt to the hot chocolate!"

There was a jangle of bells as the store door swung open.

"Afternoon, Margie," Remus called out as he strode in.

"Wotcher, Remus!" the girl, Margie, called back, grinning cheekily. He froze, staring at her.

"How did you know-" he began, but Sirius stood, interrupting him.

"Hey Remus," he said. "It's been a while." Remus turned, staring at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Suddenly, there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. He turn and ran like hell back out the door. "Moony- wait!" Sirius called, chasing after him. Remus ducked down a narrow gap between buildings, jumping over a trash sack, turning to face him, wand in hand.

"Petrificus-" he started, and Sirius leapt, tackling him to the ground, sticking a hand over Remus' mouth, trying to wrestle the wand from his grip.

"We're in the middle of Muggle London you nimrod!" he said. "Are you trying to get the bloody Aurors on our case?"

"Yes!" Remus exclaimed, voice muffled, trying to make the correct wand motions for a spell, any spell.

"How did you even survive the war, you're a terrible dueler," Sirius sniped. He jerked his hand away as Remus bit down on it, fearful the werewolf would break his skin.

"You're a terrible person! You traitorous, murdering scum, don't speak to me like I'm your fucking friend!" Remus swore, furious. Sirius bit down on Remus' shoulder as hard as he could, wrenching the wand from his grasp as he yelped in pain.

"There we go," Sirius said, pointing the wand at Remus. The other man went eerily still, his eyes defiant, waiting for an opening, a Gryffindor to the last. "I solemnly swear on my life and magic," he began, "I am not a Death Eater. I was not Lily and James' Secret Keeper. That Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper. That I did not reveal that he was the Secret Keeper to anyone. That I did not reveal his location to anyone. That I am not and never have been a Death Eater, or a dark wizard, or loyal to Lord Voldemort or any other Dark Wizard. I have never cast an Unforgivable. And I'm truly sorry I thought you were a traitor," he paused from his recitation, looking at Remus' shocked face. "Anything you want me to add?" he asked. Remus shook his head mutely. "So mote it be," Sirius finished, pointing the wand above his head, silver sparks flying out from the tip revealing the truth of his words. He stood up, and helped Remus to his feet, passing the wand back to him.

"What do you want with me?" Remus asked.

"Did you see the boy I was with?" Sirius asked. Remus' face paled, and he rolled up his long sleeved undershirt, sliding the wand into a holster concealed by an arm brace.

"Clever," Sirius complimented.

"I do actually need the arm brace," Remus admitted as they entered the shop.

"Nothing shady, he says," Margie said, clearly angry. "Just an old friend, he says!"

"He is an old friend and it had better be nothing shady," Remus said, striding towards Harry. "We just… didn't part on the best of terms."

"I take it you don't trust my eyes either, do you Moony?" Sirius said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Don't call me that," Remus said, crouching in front of Harry, still sitting in his chair, sipping at the hot chocolate.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me," Harry said darkly.

"I didn't leave, did I?" Sirius said. "Just popped out to catch up to Remus. I came straight back, didn't I?"

"You crossed your heart," Harry insisted.

"Don't be like that," Sirius whined, "Stop pouting. You're just over tired." Remus' lifted up Harry's bangs.

"Morgan be merciful," he breathed, "Sirius, tell me you didn't kidnap Harry."

"Should I ring the police?" Margie asked.

"No!" Sirius shouted, "No, I did not kidnap him!" Raking a hand through what was left of his hair in frustration, he continued, "I just- he came to be with me. Suddenly. Out of the blue as it were. Understand? And I've been trying to get him back where he belongs. You're the only one who can help me, Moony."

"Don't call me that," he repeated, still looking at Harry in shock. He shook his head. "Right then," he said, digging into his pockets and producing a set of keys which he handed to Sirius. "Do you have a some paper or something? I'll give you directions to where I live." Sirius passed him the directions Lina had written him. Remus flipped the paper over to the back side and grabbed a pen from the counter, writing out directions on the back.

"Sorry about all the excitement, Margie," he said.

"'S alright. A girl can use a little excitement in her life from time to time," she said, her smile quirking into a smirk. "Just know that your dark past as a mobster is going to become legend around the shop from now on."

"Joy," Remus said, setting the pen back down. As he handed the paper back to Sirius, he noticed Lina's handwriting.

"Capitolina told you where I was?" he asked, face softening. Sirius nodded.

"I'll tell you more later," he tucking the directions in his pocket. "You've got work now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Remus agreed. "My bedsit's not far from here- only about two miles. Lock the door behind you, do not leave and do not get followed. Clear?"

"Make that dark present as a mobster," Margie added quietly.

"Clear," Sirius said., "C'mon then Harry, you can bring your cup with you."

"'Kay," Harry said, hopping down, holding out his hand. Sirius took the boy's hand, snagging his own cup of coffee.

"Alright, we're off," he said. "We'll see you in…?"

"Five hours," Remus said.

"Ok then," Sirius said, nodding, walking to the door.

"And Sirius?" Remus called after him, "I am trusting you to be there when I get off work. I'm trusting you."

"Don't worry Moony," Sirius said, looking over his shoulder, smiling a little bitterly, "I promise- this time, you can trust me."

* * *

A/N: And there we go! There were two more scenes I was thinking of adding, but I realized that would be another 2,000 words or so and that they'd work quite well at the beginning of the next chapter. They'll resolve some of the threads spun out here- and of course, lead to more adventures. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Gunnr's Hearth is a stupid pun on Gunnr's Horse, but I'm fond of it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed!


	6. Dog Days, Part 3

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or any related works.

* * *

It was a strange feeling to have to pick your own lock, thought Remus, glancing up and down the hall before silently casting Alohomora on his doorway. He swung the door open, wand still in hand. Harry was jumping on the bed, but froze up as Remus entered, jumping off and hiding under it.

"It's alright Harry," Remus said, "It's just me. Do you know who I am?" The boy peeked out from beneath the bed, then darted forth and hid behind a chair which had been pulled away from his desk for some reason. He leaned around the side, staring at him for a full minute.

"Sorry for messing up your bed," he said quietly, "But after I waked up I got bored, so I did PE, and laps got boring so I decided to do trampoline…"

"It's alright, I'm not mad," Remus assured him, "Where's Sirius right now?"

"He's Padfoot right now," Harry said, cautiously stepping out from behind the chair and gesturing across the small room, "Paddy said you already knew, so it's ok to say." Remus turned and sure enough, in the narrow space between the foot of his bed and his desk, a massive, though rather more mangy than Remus remembered, black dog was curled up, sound asleep.

"Hey, Sirius, I'm back," Remus said. No response. "Padfoot! Wake up!" he said, trying Sirius' preferred nickname. Padfoot gave a twitch and a snuffle but stayed asleep. He nudged his belly with the toe of his shoe. The dog rolled over. "Sleepy git," he mumbled to himself, wondering whether an Enervate or Titillando would be more suited for waking Sirius up.

"He went to sleep pretty much as soon as we got here," Harry said, "I sleeped for a while too, but when I waked up he kept sleeping. He's real tired from being on the run, I guess."

"We'll let him sleep then," Remus said. "Which do you think he'd rather for dinner? Curry or chips?"

"Um, I dunno…"

"Better question- which would you rather?"

"Chips!" Harry said.

"Right then," Remus said. He pulled off his work shirt, tossing it on the bed, leaving just his long sleeved undershirt. He grabbed his keychain off the desk, where Sirius had dropped it. He opened the door. "After you," he said. He closed the door behind them, locking it with his key. As he turned to walk down the hall, he found his step impeded by Harry clinging to his pant leg. "Let go," he said. Harry shook his head and clutched tighter. "You're going to make me trip," Remus said, "And I can't carry you- I've a bad arm right now."

"I don't want you to disappear without me," Harry said, "And there's so many strangers outside!"

"Here," Remus said, awkwardly taking Harry's hand. It wasn't that he was bad around kids- the mean age of most packs was about fourteen, after all- but he had almost no experience with little children like Harry. Packs tended to be fiercely protective of their smallest members, and wouldn't let an outsider like Remus around them. And of course, wizarding families were even less likely to let a known werewolf around their kids.

"Paddy won't mind us going together, cause your Moony, right?" Harry asked as they went down the staircase.

"No one's called me that in years," Remus said.

"Should I call you something different?" Harry asked. Remus thought for a moment.

"Remus," he said, as they stepped out onto the street, "But at the coffee shop I work under the name John- I attract less attention that way."

"My real name is Harry, but sometimes it's Evan," Harry said.

"Evan? Is that your middle name?" Remus asked.

"I dunno…" Harry said, frowning. "It's what Paddy calls me sometimes, cause it would be bad if people knowed my real name."

"I suppose it would be," Remus agreed.

"How come though?" Harry asked. "Paddy won't tell me why."

"What do you know about how your parents died?" Remus asked, not sure how to broach the topic with the boy.

"They died in a car crash, right?" Harry asked. Remus stopped walking suddenly, unintentionally jerking the boy's hand.

"Who told you that?" he demanded. Harry squirmed uncomfortably.

"My aunt… she said I shouldn't ask about it…" he said. "Is this another magic thing she lied about?"

"Yes," Remus asked, wondering what else the woman had lied about, "Your parents… well, they were murdered. And no one really knows what happened, but at the end you were alive and their murderer, a very powerful wizard, was dead. Your magic somehow saved you, is what most people think, and you became very famous because of it. A lot of people would want to kill your or kidnap you because of it."

"Because of my magic?" Harry asked. Remus nodded, and resumed walking. Harry looked unhappy, glaring at the ground.

"What kind of chips do you want?" Remus asked as they turned the corner, walking up to the chippy.

"My aunt used to make them with vin'gar. I liked that," Harry said, still sullen.

"Evening," the boy working said, "What can I get'cha?" Remus ordered their food, feeling bad and increasingly worried as Harry's dark mood persisted. Passing the newspaper cone of chips to the boy, he awkwardly balanced his and Sirius' food in his other hand as they began to walk back.

"I'm sorry I told you about your parents like that," Remus said, "But you have a right to know what really happened."

"I'm not mad cause they're dead," Harry said, "Or I mean, I am, but I'm not right now."

"What are you mad at then?" Remus asked.

"Mary said her mum told her magic was from Satan," Harry said, "And I didn't believe her, cause my aunt said magic wasn't real, but I think she was right. Cause magic made me blow up my cousin and go to prison and it made Dementors and it got my parents killed and now its making people want to kill me!"

"That's not magic's fault though," Remus said, "Here, when we get back I'll show you some good magic." He changed the topic as they walked into the Muggle off-license, "Do you want chocolate milk, or plain?"

"Plain," Harry said quickly, "Chocolate is too sweet." Remus let go of Harry's hand and grabbed a plain milk out of the cooler, passing it to the boy. He grabbed two lagers off the shelf for him and Sirius and walked over to the counter, paying for the drinks.

"Harry!" a voice hollered as they stepped out of the store. Remus looked up the street and saw Sirius rushing up to them, once more human and looking absolutely frantic.

"Thank Merlin! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Sirius cried out, falling to his knees and clutching the boy to him, a few chips falling on the ground from the jostling. He looked up at Remus with a glare. "You could've woken me," he said accusatorily, "Or left a note at least! Do you know how worried I was he'd wandered off and been kidnapped or something?"

"I tried to wake you up," Remus said defensively, "And we were gone less than ten minutes. Here," he said, holding out the bottles and chips. "Dinner." Standing and taking his share of the food, the anger washed off Sirius' face, leaving an odd expression.

"If I wasn't so mad I could kiss you," Sirius said, looking at the alcohol like it was an oasis in the desert.

"I'd really rather you didn't," Remus said.

"Do we havta go back to your flat?" Harry asked.

"Would rather not?"

"It's small," Harry said. "It was like a nicer version of our cell."

"There's a park two blocks west," Remus suggested. Sirius nodded and slipped the bottle into the crook of his arm, taking Harry's hand as they walked. He started a bit.

"Harry, your hair!" Sirius said. Remus looked over, eyeing Harry's chin length locks, looking for something abnormal when he realized the obvious.

"Oh, that's right," he said, "It was cut really strangely in the coffee shop, wasn't it?"

"I knowed it looked stupid!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well, it doesn't anymore," Sirius told him, "It must've grown back when you were sleeping. Mine used to do that when I was your age as well. At least it didn't grow back tangled, I guess." Harry pulled his hand free and ran his hand through his hair, and laughed happily.

"See?" Remus said, "Magic's not so bad, is it?"

"My hair growed back because of magic?" Harry asked, looking thoughtful. He grabbed a fistful of chips in his small hand, shoving them into his mouth at once.

"You'll make yourself sick if you eat so fast," Sirius told him.

"Magic gets a point in the good side," Harry decided, ignoring him, "But I'm still mostly cynical about it."

"You're cynical about it?" Remus asked, amused.

"Yes," Harry explained, "It's a big word that means I don't believe it. Paddy says I'm a cynical person."

"Does he?"

"He's taking my words out of context!" Sirius said to Remus.

"Can I go play?" Harry asked as they reached the park.

"Go on," Sirius said, finding a mostly clean bench, "I'll watch from here." Harry passed him his chips and milk and scarpered off to the play structure. It was those late summer evening hours of not quite twilight, when all the families had left the park, but the winos and stoned students hadn't yet taken up roost, leaving only the occasional joggers rushing past with their Walkmans. Remus sat on the other side of the bench. Sirius set Harry's food between them, catching his lager as the bottle threatened to slip from his pocket, setting it in the middle as well. Remus unholstered his wand and discretely popped the caps off of the lager bottles and cast a quick Muffliato charm around them- the charm hadn't been in any of their textbooks, but the useful spell had spread like wildfire through the school in their fifth year and often proved useful. There was an awkward pause.

"You got me black pudding," Sirius said, unwrapping his food.

"Well, I remembered the only thing you liked better than disgusting foods was bad puns, so…" Remus shrugged. He looked across the playground. Harry had managed to climb on top of the monkey bars, but now seemed unsure how to get down. "Where's Harry been the past six months? There's been a bloody manhunt on but it was like he just vanished."

"With me," Sirius said.

"And where were you? With Lina?"

"No, in Azkaban, you twit."

"What!?" Remus exclaimed. "I figured- you implied that he had apparated, but I assumed you had escaped earlier and that the Ministry had hushed it up to prevent a panic, given how crazed people went after Harry went missing. You mean he was in prison the whole time!?"

"Yep. The Ministry has been more incompetent than usual, as you can see."

"Tell me about it," Remus said morosely. He drank heavily, watching as Harry stood and leapt off the bars, flailing and squealing as he fell. "Is he alright?"

"He's a pretty resilient kid," Sirius said. "I did the best I could." He picked at his food morosely, his eating mechanical and distracted. He never took his eyes off Harry. "It's a good thing we got out when we did though, I s'pose," he said, "From what Lina was saying, if we'd waited any longer she and her pack would've been long gone and I'd've never been able to find you, what with your wanderlust."

"No, you'd've been able to find me," Remus said, "Assuming I hadn't moved to France or whatever. Right now I have to move every sixty days, or I have to register and any wizarding household within three miles can petition to have me evicted. But if the new Codes go into effect, I'll have to move to 'Designated Settlement Sites' and follow curfew or face, at best, jail time."

"Oh," Sirius said. "I wouldn't worry, mate. I mean, Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock- I'm sure he's doing a fine job leading the charge against it."

"Why did you find me?" Remus asked, running a hand through his hair..

"I need you to take Harry to the Aurors," Sirius said.

"What?"

"Spending half a year in prison was traumatic enough," Sirius said, "And I'd take him myself and turn myself in, but… I don't know. I wouldn't- I mean, I would mind going back to prison, but I deserve it, don't I? I murdered Peter, didn't I? But the punishment for escape is the Kiss, and I'm not ok with that, and living on the run is no way to raise a child, especially if I was a dog half the bloody time."

"So you want me to what, just drop him off at the Auror Office?"

"No, I want you to take him to the Auror Office and bloody well stay there until he's in the custody of a decent wizarding home," Sirius said, annoyed, "Those Muggles he was with were unfit parents."

"He told me his aunt said Lily and James died in a car crash," Remus said. Sirius choked a little.

"By Merlin, I swear, if I see either of those bloody Muggles-"

"Don't swear anything you can't keep," Remus interrupted.

"I could fucking keep it," Sirius growled. Remus reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a slim metal case. Flipping it open, he pulled out two cigarettes and offered one to him.

"Here," he said.

"Thanks Moony," Sirius said. Remus closed the case, flicking a button on the side, causing a small enchanted flame to spring from the corner. He leaned forward to light his, coughing a bit as he exhaled.

"You'd almost think it was your first," Remus said.

"Oh shut up, you prat," Sirius said, quite a bit calmer, "I haven't had a light in nearly five years."

"When should I take Harry?" Remus asked.

"First thing tomorrow," Sirius said. "The sooner he can start to move on, the better, yeah?"

"Sure," Remus agreed, taking a draw off his own cigarette.

"Gah, bees in my ears!" Harry said, rubbing at his ears as he ran up to them.

"It's just the charm- can you hear me now?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, "Was you talking about me? My ears was burning before the charm bees got in them."

"I was just saying you need to drink your milk before it got warm," Sirius said.

"Alriiiight," Harry sighed with a tone of long-suffering, stuffing another fistful of chips into his mouth, then struggling with the cap of his milk bottle. Remus pulled it from his grasp undoing the cap and passing it back to the boy. "Fanks," Harry said, mouth still half full of chip, washing it down with a long drink from the bottle.

"That is disgusting," Sirius told him emphatically. Harry pumped a fist in the air.

"Pile of filth power!" he yelled, running back to the play structure, milk sloshing on him.

"I don't know where he gets this stuff," Sirius said.

"Sure you don't," Remus said.

"I don't!"

"Tomorrow is still good-bye?" Remus asked. Sirius looked thoughtful.

"Yeah," he said, "Tomorrow."

* * *

"Aparecium! Scriptum Revelio! Celatum Revelio!" Proudfoot was running through every unsealing spell she knew, but was quickly running out of spells. "Explicatio!" she tried. The gibberish wavered, then melted, the ink pooling and reforming into words. Finally, she thought, but then mentally slapped herself as she realized she had thought to soon.

"THIS CASE HAS BEEN SEALED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, ACTING IN HIS AUTHORITY AS HEADMASTER AND CUSTODEM IN LOCO PARENTIS OF HOGWARTS STUDENTS, BACKED BY HIS AUTHORITY AS CHIEF WARLOCK, GRAND SORCEROR, AND SUPREME MUGWUMP, AND CAN BE UNSEALED BY HIM ALONE. SHOULD HE BE DECEASED, CONTACT THE MINISTER OF MAGIC, CHIEF WARLOCK, OR HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS," the parchment proclaimed in bold letters, which slowly melted away, returning the parchment to its previous state of gibberish.

"That paranoid old codger," she swore to herself in frustration, shutting the file in frustration. She had almost completed the timeline, as convoluted and contradictory as it was at times, and had hoped the juvenile file would contain some vital clue as to where Black would go. Reading the accusations, it was as if every Death Eater from lowest rank to the highest had known of Black, but no one had personally known him. She had even been forced to concede that some of the later confessions had to have been false, starring the more suspicious contradictions to check the statute of limitations on to see whether or not they could still pull the blighters in question in for questioning. She looked up as Shacklebolt let out a soft groan, stretching his seat, working out a kink in his neck. "You were down a long time," she observed. "Any idea where Dumbledore is right now?"

"What? Uh, he's taken a leave of absence to conduct his own investigation into the Potter disappearance. Why do you ask?"

"I'm about ready to charge him with obstruction of justice, is why," she grumbled.

"I take it you haven't had any breakthroughs either," Shacklebolt said, amused.

"Well, what about you? Did you see what you were looking for?" she retorted sharply. He tapped his chin, looking thoughtful.

"Have you ever seen this memory?" he asked.

"No, and I wasn't there either- I was leading the manhunt for Mulciber at the time, but I knew Sadat, who made the arrest."

"It's very strange," Shacklebolt said, "A lot of things about it… for instance when they performed Prior Incantato on his wand, it revealed he'd last cast a Reductor."

"A standard blasting curse. Why is that strange?"

"The Reductor curse breaks things down- it doesn't cause explosions, like the one that killed Pettigrew," Shacklebolt explained. Proudfoot frowned.

"He could've used it after he was dead, to get rid of the body," she suggested.

"That's not what witnesses saw," he said, "The Muggle's memories are appended on at the end- they all saw the two get into an argument, then an explosion, and Pettigrew disappeared."

"Was that the only thing?"

"No, his confession… When the Aurors arrived, he was staring at the crater laughing hysterically. When questioned, he said 'I'm going to kill that rat-bastard,' to which a Muggle replied he already had. He began laughing again, managed to say, 'I killed him? Thank the Fates, I killed him, James, can you forgive me,' then went into hysterics again. Despite his skill in dueling being such nearly a dozen Hit-Wizards were brought to subdue him, he surrendered his wand without a fight and didn't resist the binding charms on his arrest."

"Yeah, he was mad. What's your point?"

"It's inconsistent behavior, isn't it? He's You-Know-Who's right hand man, had already violently murdered one man, but then doesn't even try to resist arrest?"

"That's what madness is- inconsistent."

"I don't know- I mean, as you said, I went to school with him, and I did know him through some… mutual acquaintances. It seems very out of character."

"So, what, you're saying he didn't kill Pettigrew?" Proudfoot demanded.

"No no, I'm not saying that," Shacklebolt said, waving his hands placatingly. "He was there, with a blasting curse, and he confessed. Witnesses saw him throw a curse at Pettigrew. However, I'm just saying that there might be more to the situation that never came to light because he was never questioned beyond that initial arrest."

"So to sum up, you somehow have fewer leads than when you started," Proudfoot said. Shacklebolt rolled his eyes, and returned the memories to their vial. "Come on Kingsley, don't be a sourpuss," she said, "C'mon, it's already seven- let's knock off for the day and see if our brains can't make connections in a more relaxed environment."

"You mean let's go to the pub."

"Of course I do," she said cheerily, rising from her desk, palette watering at the thought of a good IPA. Suddenly, LEO Warner rushed in through the door, her hair fluttering behind her as she ran towards their desks.

"What is it Imogen?" Shacklebolt asked. "Has there been a break?" There was a photograph in Warner's hand. She looked from it, to the bulletin board, and back again.

"Spit it out," Proudfoot urged.

"I… I was just walking past Auror Moody's cubicle, when I saw this photo on top of his case files, and… I just can't believe…" Warner stammered, still looking from photo to board. Shacklebolt pulled the photo from her hand, his eyes widening, just as shocked as Warner.

"What is it!?" Proudfoot asked. Shacklebolt passed the photo to her.

"Sirius Black has Harry Potter!" Warner cried out.

* * *

"But I thought that we were family!" Harry protested.

"We are, and we always will be," Sirius reassured him, tying his shoes for him, "But you have a lot more family- family who can take way better care of you than I can."

"Don't care! Don't want to go!" Harry insisted.

"Harry, don't be a baby," Sirius told him firmly. Harry started crying.

"I'm not being a baby!" he said, "How come you're getting rid of me!? Wasn't I a good boy!?"

"It's not about good or bad, Harry, it's- it's complicated, alright? You'll understand when you're older." Sirius sighed.

"But- but what if they're bad like at home before, or what if my magic is bad, or what if bad things try to get me like in Azkaban, or-"

"That's why you have to go to your new family- they'll be able to protect you because they'll have a proper wand, and they can show you all sorts of good magic," Sirius assured him, picking him up. Harry hugged his arms around his neck.

"Like the butterflies Remus made?" he asked, his crying slowing.

"Yeah," Sirius said, "It's going to be all butterflies and bubblegum from here onwards, I promise."

"And you'll come visit me?" Harry asked. Sirius froze. "You'll come visit me, won't you?"

"I- I'll certainly endeavor to-"

"You're using big words again," Harry interrupted.

"Harry," Sirius said, "I promise you- this isn't the last you've seen of me." He smiled, "Small enough words for you?" Harry nodded, wiping his eyes. Sirius looked to Remus, who had been standing by the door, unsure of his role in the little drama that had spun out before him. He stepped over to Remus, passing the child to him. Remus fumbled the pass, his left arm still in the brace from the full moon a week before, not quite sure how to hold him. Harry was still clutching Sirius' neck. "C'mon," Sirius said, peeling the boy's hands off of him, "Time to let go."

"I love you," Harry said sadly, as Remus held him close to his chest, supporting his weight with his right arm.

"Yeah," Sirius said, "Love you too buddy." Impulsively, he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the boy's temple.

"What are you going to do?" Remus asked in a low voice. Sirius looked up sharply at him.

"Can we talk about it when you get back?" he asked. Remus hesitated, then nodded.

"Be Padfoot if you're going to wait," he said, "Just in case someone makes a connection between us and tries to scope out my room while I'm away." Sirius nodded.

"Be a good boy for Remus, Harry," he said, and shifted into Padfoot.

"Be a good dog," Harry said in return. Remus closed his eyes, and apparated. When he opened them, they were in the apparition point outside of King's Cross. He hustled over to the nearby entrance for the tube station, dropping two tokens. The goodbye had taken longer than he expected, they just barely caught the train.

"Does my new family live in London?" Harry asked as Remus found a seat, holding Harry on his lap.

"I'm not sure," Remus hedged, "We have to go talk to some people about that first." He paid careful attention to the stops. Harry didn't ask any more questions, content to hide his face in Remus' shoulder, frightened of the strangers coming and going. Not that Remus blamed him, he thought as he struggled to pick Harry up again as they prepared to disembark. Some of their fellow passengers were quite dodgy looking, including one man who Remus swore was part ghoul. Winding down the streets, Remus was just beginning to worry he'd gotten turned around when he saw the phone booth. Stepping inside, he punched in the number.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," a woman's voice said.

"Remus Lupin, returning something that's been lost," he said, not wanting Harry's first real experience with the wizarding world to be that of being mobbed.

"Please take a visitor's badge and attatch it to your robes," she continued, a badge rattling down the coin slot. "Thank you, and have a nice day." Remus pinned the badge to the front of his shirt, still in Muggle clothes. He wasn't sure whether the drop in security since the fall of Voldemort was a good or bad thing, but it was certainly a convenient one, he thought. Harry looked around with equal measures of fear and awe as the floor began to sink into the ground, taking them to the Atrium.

"Try to keep your head down," he told Harry, not wanting the boy to be frightened by over enthusiastic admirers should he be noticed. Fortunately, most people seemed to busy spare more than a second glance, generally seeming more disapproving of Remus' strange Muggle clothes than curious about Harry. He crossed the Atrium to the lifts, taking it up to the Department of Law Enforcement on the second level. He stepped out into the long, winding cooridor, lined with doors. He began walking down the line, heading to the Auror Office, when he froze. From the heavy open doors that led the Office, chatting easily, stepped Avery, dressed in the Aurors' uniform. Remus turned on his heel, walking back down the hall to the lifts as fast as he could while not to drawing attention to himself, pressing the call button on the lift repeatedly.

"You're holding me to hard," Harry complained.

"Be quiet, right now," Remus said harshly, convinced he could feel Avery staring at him. Finally, the lift arrived, and he rushed inside, pressing the ground level button and holding the close door button. The doors shut, and he exhaled, relaxing his grip.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Sirius may have exaggerated the amount of butterflies in your future," Remus said, as the lift dropped them off in the phone booth they came in.

"How did we get back here?" Harry exclaimed, "We didn't take the same lift!"

"Magic," Remus said shortly, and, hoping there were anti-Muggle charms placed on the booths, apparated back to his room. Padfoot jolted up at the crack he made as he arrived, shifting back to Sirius.

"Why is Harry still with you?" he asked.

"Avery works for the Aurors," he said grimly.

"Who?"

"Aloysius Avery! You know him, few years older than us, hung out with Snape, a fucking Death Eater!" Remus shouted, nearly dropping Harry with his wild gesticulations. Sirius ran up and grabbed the boy, setting him safely on the ground.

"How in nine realms did he become an Auror?" he asked.

"Hell if I know," Remus said, running his hands through his hair. "He bought his way out of a conviction, I guess he bought his way into the program, the point is I couldn't just leave the Boy Who Lived in an office with who knows how many other Death Eaters!"

"I guess we can try and take Harry directly to Hogwarts?" Sirius suggested, when there was a knock on the door, and Remus instantly thought of the apparition. "Coming!" he shouted, in hopes of keeping whoever was at his door from busting it in. Turning to Sirius he said quietly, "Hide under the bed with Harry- I'll see who it is." Unholstering his wand, he slid up along side the wall, opening the door a crack. He let out a sigh of relief and swung it open the rest of the way. "Rudi," he said, letting the pregnant teenager in, "You scared me to death. How are you?"

"Have you heard the news yet?" she asked as he shut the door behind her.

"I've been busy this morning- what's happened now?" he asked.

"The Code passed," she told him. His knees went weak, and he had to catch himself against the door.

"What?" he asked.

"Lord Ogden demanded an immediate vote in the morning session, because the emergency session had already gone on for more than sixty-six days, which is supposed to be the limit," she explained, "It passed twenty minutes ago. We heard on the wireless."

"But- what about Dumbledore? He's the Chief, he could've-"

"He wasn't present."

"I can't believe this," Remus breathed, still in shock. "What am I going to do?"

"We're leaving," Rudi said. "Lina has already called everyone back, and we're packing up camp." She reached into her hand bag and pulled out several small booklets made of paper. "Can you make them into passports?"

"Yeah," he said distractedly, carrying them over to his desk. "Sure, I… You'll have to attach the photos yourself, but-"

"I have those," she said, watching with interest as he murmured a long series of incantations of each booklet, each spell shaping them to look more and more like British passports.

"Here," he said, passing them back, "I also put a low-level notice-me-not on them, so immigration officials will be less inclined to scrutinize them for any flaws, but that will make it easier to lose them, so be careful."

"Thank you so much," she said, beaming as she tucked them back in her purse. "You can come with us, you know," she said. "Lina is fond of you. You'll always have a place in the pack."

"Thanks. I'll… I'll think about it. Be safe," he said, she left again. He locked the door behind her, running his hands through his hair. He stumbled over to his bed sitting down, head in his hands. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Sirius crawl out from under the bed, felt the bed dip as he sat beside him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I don't even know. What am I going to do?" Remus said, brain breaking at the implications. He'd have to move, and hope he'd get for a Work Permit from the Registry for his job, but he was in food service which might've been one of the forbidden professions under the new Code of Conduct, and how was he supposed to work in the winter with a sun-down curfew, how would he explain the ID badge to his boss, and he felt Sirius drape an arm across his shoulders, like he did when they were young.

"So here's what we've learned today," Sirius said, with a mocking false cheer, "We've learned that not only does the Auror Office have known Death Eaters in it, but the Wizengamot are a bunch of bastards who've just signed away your civil liberties, and Dumbledore either couldn't or wouldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

"What am I going to do?" Remus repeated, despairing. Harry crawled up on the bed next to him, hugging him as well.

"The way I see it, we have two options," Sirius said. "One- we can flee the country with Lina and lay low until the law gets revised."

"What's option two?" Remus asked, looking over at him. Sirius grinned devilishly.

"I think that government corruption calls for a little good old fashioned Marauding."

* * *

A/N: Ugh, sorry for the longer update time. I've been trying to stick to about 1 chapter a week, but between real life and the INSANE amount of rewrites I had to do it took DECADES. Some of the spells used here are from the books, others are dog Latin. In other news, I've definitely decided Harry will go to Hogwarts in this story. It's about 2 or 3 chapters off, but I'd like some input- Gryffindor or Slytherin? Because the ideas I have do need Hermione and Ron, and Gryffindor would be easier to write, but I think Slytherin might be more in keeping with the boy this Harry grows up to be. But anytime I try to think of how he'd actually interact with Slytherin house, I just end up mentally screaming "Racism is not OK! Classism is not OK!" over and over again. I'd appreciate any input you have! Also, don't listen to Lupin, black pudding is delicious- it's like sausage with the consistency of a brownie, but it's so very unkosher. ;) UK readers, if someone asks you what black pudding is made of, TELL THEM! Don't just giggle and play "Troll the American," lol. As always, thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed! Next time, shenanigans ensue!


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